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THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
EDGAR ALLAN POE
VOLUME IV.











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The Murders if the Rue Morgue.
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JAMES A. HARRISON
Professor in the University
of Virginia
Aſ
PROSE TALES
- * Volumes Three and Four
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the Ciniucrgitº $ociety
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Copyright, 1902
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.


C O N T E N T S.
PAu-
The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion . . . -
The Journal of Julius Rodman . . . . . . 9
Mystification . . . . . . . . . . . . on
Why the Little Frenchman Wears His Hand in a
Sling . . . . . . . . . . . . , 14
The Business Man . . . . . . . . . . . an
The Man of the Crowd . . . . . . . . , 14
The Murders in the Rue Morgue . . . . . 146
— The Island of the Fay . . . . . . . . . 191
výThe Colloquy of Monos and Una . . . . . woo
Never Bet the Devil Your Head . . . . . . a 11
Three Sundays in a Week . . . . . . . a 17
Eleonora . . . . . . . . . . . . . a 46
The Oval Portrait . . . . . . . . . . a 45
The Masque of the Red Death . . . . . . a 50
The Landscape Garden . . . . . . . . a 59
Notes :
...Abbreviations used in the Notes . . . . , 274
* The Conversation of Eiros and charmion . . 2.75
The Journal of Julius Rodman . . . . . 477
Mystification . . . . . . . . . . . .478
why the Little Frenchman wears. His Hand in
a Sling - - - - - - - - - - - - -


, - .
256696B
Copyright, 1902
By Thomas Y. Crowell & Co.


CONTENTS.
Pagm
The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion ... i
The Journal of Julius Rodman 9
Mystification 102
Why the Little Frenchman Wears His Hand in a
Sling 114
The Business Man 122
The Man of the Crowd 134
.The Murders in the Rue Morgue 146
The Island of the Fay 193
\Z^The Colloquy of Monos and Una 200
Never Bet the Devil Your Head 213
Three Sundays in a Week 227
Eleonora 236
The Oval Portrait 245
The Masque of the Red Death 250
The Landscape Garden 259
Notes:
.Abbreviations used in the Notes 274
The Conversation of Eiros and Charmion . . 275
The Journal of Julius Rodman 277
Mystification 278
Why the Little Frenchman Wears His Hand in
a Sling 2S3


vi CONTENTS.
Notes (coutinusd): PASa
The Business Man 285
The Man of the Crowd 287
The Murders in the Rue Morgue .... 288
'The Island of the Fay 307
The Colloquy of Monos and Una .... 309
Never Bet the Devil Your Head 309
Three Sundays in a Week 312
Eleonora 31a
The Oval Portrait 316
The Masque of the Red Death 319
The Landscape Garden 320
Variations of the Stedman-Woodberry, Stoddard,
and Ingram Texts from Griswold . . . 320


EXPLANATORY NOTE
The lack of uniformity in spelling is intentional,
being found also in the original used for copy.
At the head of each tale will be found information
as to the dates of all early printings.
The figures 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the collected
editions of those dates: '' Tales of the Grotesque and
Arabesque," 2 vols., Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard,
1840; "Prose Romances of Edgar Allan Poe," Phila-
delphia, 1843; "Tales by Edgar A. Poe," New York,
Wiley & Putnam, 1845 (Duyckinck Selection).





THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS
AND CHARMION.
[Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, December, 1839;
1840; 1845.]
Uvp am icpoaolaw.
I will bring fire to thee.
Eu Hindis, Androm. [257].
E1ROS.
Why do you call me Eiros?
CHARM1ON.
So henceforward will you always be called. You
must forget, too, my earthly name, and speak to me as
Charmion.
E1ROS.
This is indeed no dream!
CHARM1ON.
Dreams are with us no more ; — but of these mys-
teries anon. I rejoice to see you looking life-like and
rational. The film of the shadow has already passed
from off' your eyes. Be of heart, and fear nothing.
Your allotted days of stupor have expired; and, to-
morrow, I will myself induct you into the full joys and
wonders of your novel existence.
VOL. 1V—1 1


2 TALES.
E1ROS.
True — I feel no stupor — none at a!!. The wild
sickness and the terrible darkness have left me, and I
hear no longer that mad, rushing, horrible sound, like
the "voice of many waters." Yet my senses are be-
wildered, Charmion, with the keenness of their percep-
tion of the new.
CHARM1ON.
A few days will remove all this ; — but I fully under-
stand you, and feel for you. It is now ten earthly
years since I underwent what you undergo — yet the
remembrance of it hangs by me still. You have now
suffered all of pain, however, which you will suffer in
Aidenn.
In Aidenn?
In Aidenn.
CHARM1ON.
E1ROS.
Oh God ! — pity me, Charmion !— I am over-
burthened with the majesty of all things — of the un-
known now known — of the speculative Future merged
in the august and certain Present.
CHARM1ON.
Grapple not now with such thoughts. To-morrow
we will speak of this. Your mind wavers, and its agi-
tation will find relief in the exercise of simple memories.
Look not around, nor forward — but back. I am burn-
ing with anxiety to hear the details of that stupendous
event which threw you among us. Tell me of it.
Let us converse of familiar things, in the old familiar
language of the world which has so fearfully perished.


EIROS AND CHARMION. 3
E1ROS.
Most fearfully, fearfully !— this is indeed no dream.
CHARM1ON.
Dreams are no more. Was I much mourned, my
Eiros?
E1ROS.
Mourned, Charmion?—oh deeply. To that last
hour of all, there hung a cloud of intense gloom and
devout sorrow over your household.
CHARM1ON.
And that last hour — speak of it. Remember that,
beyond the naked fact of the catastrophe itself, I know
nothing. When, coming out from among mankind, I
passed into Night through the Grave — at that period,
if I remember aright, the calamity which overwhelmed
you was utterly unanticipated. But, indeed, I knew
little of the speculative philosophy of the day.
The individual calamity was, as you say, entirely
unanticipated ; but analogous misfortunes had been long
a subject of discussion with astronomers. I need scarce
tell you, my friend, that, even when you left us, men
had agreed to understand those passages in the most
holy writings which speak of the final destruction of
all things by fire, as having reference to the orb of the
earth alone. But in regard to the immediate agency of
the ruin, speculation had been at fault from that epoch
in astronomical knowledge in which the comets were
divested of the terrors of flame. The very moderate


4 TALES.
density of these bodies had been well established.
They had been observed to pass among the satellites of
Jupiter, without bringing about any sensible alteration
either in the masses or in the orbits of these secondary
planets. We had long regarded the wanderers as
vapory creations of inconceivable tenuity, and as alto-
gether incapable of doing injury to our substantial globe,
even in the event of contact. But contact was not in
any degree dreaded; for the elements of all the comets
were accurately known. That among them we should
look for the agency of the threatened fiery destruction had
been for many years considered an inadmissible idea.
But wonders and wild fancies had been, of late days,
strangely rife among mankind ; and, although it was only
with a few of the ignorant that actual apprehension pre-
vailed, upon the announcement by astronomers of a new
comet, yet this announcement was generally received
with I know not what of agitation and mistrust.
The elements of the strange orb were immediately
calculated, and it was at once conceded by all observers,
that its path, at perihelion, would bring it into very close
proximity with the earth. There were two or three
astronomers, of secondary note, who resolutely main-
tained that a contact was inevitable. I cannot very
well express to you the effect of this intelligence upon
the people. For a few short days they would not be-
lieve an assertion which their intellect, so long employed
among worldly considerations, could not in any manner
grasp. But the truth of a vitally important fact soon
makes its way into the understanding of even the most
stolid. Finally, all men saw that astronomical knowl-
edge lied not, and they awaited the comet. Its approach
was not, at first, seemingly rapid; nor was its appear-
ance of very unusual character. It was of a dull red,


EIROS AND CHARMION. 5
and had little perceptible train. For seven or eight
days we saw no material increase in its apparent diam-
eter, and but a partial alteration in its color. Meantime,
the ordinary affairs of men were discarded, and all in-
terests absorbed in a growing discussion, instituted by
the philosophic, in respect to the cometary nature. Even
the grossly ignorant aroused their sluggish capacities to
such considerations. The learned now gave their intel-
lect — their soul — to no such points as the allaying of
fear, or to the sustenance of loved theory. They sought
— they panted for right views. They groaned for per-
fected knowledge. Truth arose in the purity of her
strength and exceeding majesty, and the wise bowed
down and adored.
That material injury to our globe or to its inhabitants
would result from the apprehended contact, was an
opinion which hourly lost ground among the wise; and
the wise were now freely permitted to rule the reason
and the fancy of the crowd. It was demonstrated, that
the density of the comet's nucleus was far less than that
of our rarest gas; and the harmless passage of a similar
visitor among the satellites of Jupiter was a point strongly
insisted upon, and which served greatly to allay terror.
Theologists, with an earnestness fear-enkindled, dwelt
upon the biblical prophecies, and expounded them to
the people with a directness and simplicity of which no
previous instance had been known. That the final de-
struction of the earth must be brought about by the agency
of fire, was urged with a spirit that enforced everywhere
conviction; and that the comets were of no fiery nature
(as all men now knew) was a truth which relieved all,
in a great measure, from the apprehension of the great
calamity foretold. It is noticeable that the popular prej-
udices and vulgar errors in regard to pestilence and wars


6 TALES.
— errors which were wont to prevail upon every appear-
ance of a comet — were now altogether unknown. As
if by some sudden convulsive exertion, reason had at
once hurled superstition from her throne. The feeblest
intellect had derived vigor from excessive interest.
What minor evils might arise from the contact were
points of elaborate question. The learned spoke of
slight geological disturbances, of probable alterations in
climate, and consequently in vegetation; of possible
magnetic and electric influences. Many held that no
visible or perceptible effect would in any manner be pro-
duced. While such discussions were going on, their
subject gradually approached, growing larger in apparent
diameter, and of a more brilliant lustre. Mankind
grew paler as it came. All human operations were sus-
pended.
There was an epoch in the course of the general
sentiment when the comet had attained, at length, a size
surpassing that of any previously recorded visitation.
The people now, dismissing any lingering hope that
the astronomers were wrong, experienced all the cer-
tainty of evil. The chimerical aspect of their terror
was gone. The hearts of the stoutest of our race beat
violently within their bosoms. A very few days sufficed,
however, to merge even such feelings in sentiments more
unendurable. We could no longer apply to the strange
orb any accustomed thoughts. Its historical attributes
had disappeared. It oppressed us with a hideous novelty
of emotion. We saw it not as an astronomical phenom-
enon in the heavens, but as an incubus upon our hearts,
and a shadow upon our brains. It had taken, with in-
conceivable rapidity, the character of a gigantic mantle
of rare flame, extending from horizon to horizon.
Yet a day, and men breathed with greater freedom. It


EIROS AND CHARMION. J
was dear that we were already within the influence of the
comet; yet we lived. We even felt an unusual elastic-
ity of frame and vivacity of mind. The exceeding te-
nuity of the object of our dread was apparent; for all
heavenly objects were plainly visible through it. Mean-
time, our vegetation had perceptibly altered; and we
gained faith, from this predicted circumstance, in the fore-
sight of the wise. A wild luxuriance of foliage, utterly
unknown before, burst out upon every vegetable thing.
Yet another day — and the evil was not altogether
upon us. It was now evident that its nucleus would
first reach as. A wild change had come over all men;
and the first sense of pain was the wild signal for general
lamentation and horror. This first sense of pain lay in
a rigorous constriction of the breast and lungs, and an
insufferable dryness of the skin. It could not be denied
that our atmosphere was radically affected; the confor-
mation of this atmosphere and the possible modifications
to which it might be subjected, were now the topics of
discussion. The result of investigation sent an electric
thrill of the intensest terror through the universal heart
of man.
It had been long known that the air which encircled
as was a compound of oxygen and nitrogen gases, in
the proportion of twenty-one measures of oxygen, and
seventy-nine of nitrogen, in every one hundred of the
atmosphere. Oxygen, which was the principle of com-
bustion, and the vehicle of heat, was absolutely neces-
sary to the support of animal life, and was the most
powerful and energetic agent in nature. Nitrogen, on
the contrary, was incapable of supporting either animal
life or flame. An unnatural excess of oxygen would
result, it had been ascertained, in just such an elevation
of the animal spirits as we had latterly experienced. It


4 TALES.
density of these bodies had been well established.
They had been observed to pass among the satellites of
Jupiter, without bringing about any sensible alteration
either in the masses or in the orbits of these secondary
planets. We had long regarded the wanderers as
vapory creations of inconceivable tenuity, and as alto-
gether incapable of doing injury to our substantial globe,
even in the event of contact. But contact was not in
any degree dreaded ; for the elements of all the comets
were accurately known. That among them we should
look for the agency of the threatened fiery destruction had
been for many years considered an inadmissible idea.
But wonders and wild fancies had been, of late days,
strangely rife among mankind ; and, although it was only
with a few of the ignorant that actual apprehension pre-
vailed, upon the announcement by astronomers of a new
comet, yet this announcement was generally received
with I know not what of agitation and mistrust.
The elements of the strange orb were immediately
calculated, and it was at once conceded by all observers,
that its path, at perihelion, would bring it into very close
proximity with the earth. There were two or three
astronomers, of secondary note, who resolutely main-
tained that a contact was inevitable. I cannot very
well express to you the effect of this intelligence upon
the people. For a few short days they would not be-
lieve an assertion which their intellect, so long employed
among worldly considerations, could not in any manner
grasp. But the truth of a vitally important fact soon
makes its way into the understanding of even the most
stolid. Finally, all men saw that astronomical knowl-
edge lied not, and they awaited the comet. Its approach
was not, at first, seemingly rapid ; nor was its appear-
ance of very unusual character. It was of a dull red,


EIROS AND CHARMION. 5
and had little perceptible train. For seven or eight
days we saw no material increase in its apparent diam-
eter, and but a partial alteration in its color. Meantime,
the ordinary affairs of men were discarded, and all in-
terests absorbed in a growing discussion, instituted by
the philosophic, in respect to the cometary nature. Even
the grossly ignorant aroused their sluggish capacities to
such considerations. The learned now gave their intel-
lect—their soul—to no such points as the allaying of
fear, or to the sustenance of loved theory. They sought
—they panted for right views. They groaned for per-
fected knowledge. Truth arose in the purity of her
strength and exceeding majesty, and the wise bowed
down and adored.
That material injury to our globe or to its inhabitants
would result from the apprehended contact, was an
opinion which hourly lost ground among the wise ; and
the wise were now freely permitted to rule the reason
and the fancy of the crowd. It was demonstrated, that
the density of the comet's nucleus was far less than that
of our rarest gas; and the harmless passage of a similar
visitor among the satellites of Jupiter was a point strongly
insisted upon, and which served greatly to allay terror.
Theologists, with an earnestness fear-enkindled, dwelt
upon the biblical prophecies, and expounded them to
the people with a directness and simplicity of which no
previous instance had been known. That the final de-
struction of the earth must be brought about by the agency
of fire, was urged with a spirit that enforced everywhere
conviction; and that the comets were of no fiery nature
(as all men now knew) was a truth which relieved all,
in a great measure, from the apprehension of the great
calamity foretold. It is noticeable that the popular prej-
udices and vulgar errors in regard to pestilence and wars


8 TALES.
was the pursuit, the extension of the idea, which had
engendered awe. What would be the result of a total
extraction of the nitrogen A combustion irresistible,
all-devouring, omni-prevalent, immediate ; – the entire
fulfilment, in all their minute and terrible details, of the
fiery and horror-inspiring denunciations of the prophecies
of the Holy Book.
Why need I paint, Charmion, the now disenchained
frenzy of mankind? That tenuity in the comet which
had previously inspired us with hope, was now the
source of the bitterness of despair. In its impalpable
gaseous character we clearly perceived the consummation
of Fate. Meantime a day again passed—bearing away
with it the last shadow of Hope. We gasped in the
rapid modification of the air. The red blood bounded
tumultuously through its strict channels. A furious
delirium possessed all men ; and, with arms rigidly out-
stretched towards the threatening heavens, they trembled
and shrieked aloud. But the nucleus of the destroyer
was now upon us ; – even here in Aidenn, I shudder
while I speak. Let me be brief—brief as the ruin that
overwhelmed. For a moment there was a wild lurid
light alone, visiting and penetrating all things. Then
let us bow down, Charmion, before the excessive maj-
esty of the great God – then, there came a shouting
and pervading sound, as if from the mouth itself of
HIM ; while the whole incumbent mass of ether in
which we existed, burst at once into a species of intense
flame, for whose surpassing brilliancy and all-fervid heat
even the angels in the high Heaven of pure knowledge
have no name. Thus ended all.


THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS
RODMAN,
BEING AN ACCOUNT OF THE FIRST
PASSAGE ACROSS THE ROCKY MOUN-
TAINS OF NORTH AMERICA EVER
ACHIEVED BY CIVILIZED MAN.
[Discovered by Mr. J. H. Ingram in Burton's Gen-
tlemen's Magazine, January, 1840, and continuing
six numbers. Text follows Burton's Gentleman's
Magazine.]
CHAPTER I.
1NTRODUCTORY.
What we must consider an unusual piece of good
fortune has enabled us to present our readers, under
this head, with a narrative of very remarkable character,
and certainly of very deep interest. The Journal which
follows not only embodies a relation of the first success-
ful attempt to cross the gigantic barriers of that immense
chain of mountains which stretches from the Polar Sea
in the north, to the Isthmus of Darien in the south,
forming a craggy and snow-capped rampart through-
out its whole course, but, what is of still greater im-
portance, gives the particulars of a tour, beyond these
mountains, through an immense extent of territory
which, at this day, is looked upon as totally untravelled
and unknown, and which, in every map of the country
9


IO TALES.
to which we can obtain access, is marked as "an unex-
plored region." It is, moreover, the only unexplored
region within the limits of the continent of North
America. Such being the case, our friends will know
how to pardon us for the slight amount of unction with
which we have urged this Journal upon the public
attention. For our own parts, we have found, in its
perusal, a degree, and a species of interest such as no
similar narrative ever inspired. Nor do we think that
our relation to these papers, as the channel through
which they will be first made known, has had more
than a moderate influence in begetting this interest.
We feel assured that all our readers will unite with us
in thinking the adventures here recorded unusually
entertaining and important. The peculiar character of
the gentleman who was the leader and soul of the ex-
pedition, as well as its historian, has imbued what he
has written with a vast deal of romantic fervor, very
different from the luke-warm and statistical air which
pervades most records of the kind. Mr. James E.
Rodman, from whom we obtained the MS., is well
known to many of the readers of this Magazine; and
partakes, in some degree, of that temperament which
embittered the earlier portion of the life of his grand-
father, Mr. Julius Rodman, the writer of the narrative.
We allude to an hereditary hypochondria. It was the
instigation of this disease which, more than anything
else, led him to attempt the extraordinary journey here
detailed. The hunting and trapping designs, of which
he speaks himself, in the beginning of his Journal, were,
as far as we can perceive, but excuses made to his own
reason, for the audacity and novelty of his attempt.
There can be no doubt, we think, (and our readers will
think with us,) that he was urged solely by a desire to


JULIUS RODMAN. II
seek, in the bosom of the wilderness, that peace which
his peculiar disposition would not suffer him to enjoy
among men. He fled to the desert as to a friend. In
no other view of the case can we reconcile many points
of his record with our ordinary notions of human
action.
As we have thought proper to omit two pages of the
MS., in which Mr. R. gives some account of his life
previous to his departure up the Missouri, it may be
as well to state here that he was a native of England,
where his relatives were of excellent standing, where
he had received a good education, and from which
country he emigrated to this, in 1784, (being then
about eighteen years of age,) with his father and two
maiden sisters. The family first settled in New York;
but afterwards made their way to Kentucky, and
established themselves, almost in hermit fashion, on
the banks of the Mississippi, near where Mills' Point
now makes into the river. Here old Mr. Rodman
died, in the fall of 1790; and, in the ensuing winter,
both his daughters perished of the small-pox, within a
few weeks of each other. Shortly afterwards, (in the
spring of 1791,) Mr. Julius Rodman, the son, set out
upon the expedition which forms the subject of the
following pages. Returning from this in 1794, as
hereinafter stated, he took up his abode near Abingdon,
in Virginia, where he married, and had three children,
and where most of his descendants now live.
We are informed by Mr. James Rodman, that his
grandfather had merely kept an outline diary of his
tour, during the many difficulties of its progress; and
that the MSS. with which we have been furnished
were not written out in detail, from that diary, until
many years afterwards, when the tourist was induced


12 TALES.
to undertake the task, at the instigation of M. Andri
Michau, the botanist, and author of the Flora Boreali-
Amsricana, and of the Histoire des Chines d'Am'eriqut.
M. Michau, it will be remembered, had made an offer
of his services to Mr. Jefferson, when that statesman
first contemplated sending an expedition across the
Rocky Mountains. He was engaged to prosecute the
journey, and had even proceeded on his way as far as
Kentucky, when he was overtaken by an order from
the French minister, then at Philadelphia, requiring
him to relinquish the design, and to pursue elsewhere
the botanical inquiries on which he was employed by
his government. The contemplated undertaking then
fell into the hands of Messieurs Lewis and Clarke, by
whom it was successfully accomplished.
The MS. when completed, however, never reached
M. Michau, for whose inspection it had been drawn
up; and was always supposed to have been lost on the
road by the young man to whom it was entrusted
for delivery at M. M.'s temporary residence, near
Monticello. Scarcely any attempt was made to recover
the papers; Mr. Rodman's peculiar disposition leading
him to take but little interest in the search. Indeed,
strange as it may appear, we doubt, from what we are
told of him, whether he would have ever taken any
steps to make public the results of his most extraordi-
nary tour; we think that his only object in re-touching
his original Diary was to oblige M. Michau. Even
Mr. Jefferson's exploring project, a project which, at
the time it was broached, excited almost universal com-
ment, and was considered a perfect novelty, drew from
the hero of our narrative, only a few general observa-
tions, addressed to the members of his family. He
never made his own journey a subject of conversation;


JULIUS RODMAN. 13
seeming, rather, to avoid the topic. He died before the
return of Lewis and Clarke; and the Diary, which had
been given into the hands of the messenger for delivery
to M. Michau, was found, about three months ago, in
a secret drawer of a bureau which had belonged to
Mr. Julius R. We do not learn by whom it was
placed there—Mr. R.'s relatives all exonerate him
from the suspicion of having secreted it; but, without
intending any disrespect to the memory of that gentle-
man, or to Mr. James Rodman, (to whom we feel
under special obligation,) we cannot help thinking that
the supposition of the narrator's having, by some means,
reprocured the package from the messenger, and con-
cealed it where it was discovered, is very reasonable,
and not at all out of keeping with the character of that
morbid sensibility which distinguished the individual.
We did not wish, by any means, to alter the man-
ner of Mr. Rodman's narration, and have, therefore,
taken very few liberties with the MS., and these few
only in the way of abridgement. The style, indeed,
could scarcely be improved — it is simple and very effec-
tive; giving evidence of the deep delight with which
the traveller revelled in the majestic novelties through
which he passed, day after day. There is a species
of affectionateness which pervades his account, even of
the severest hardships and dangers, which lets us at
once into the man's whole idiosyncrasy. He was
possessed with a burning love of Nature; and wor-
shipped her, perhaps, more in her dreary and savage
aspects, than in her manifestations of placidity and joy.
He stalked through that immense and often terrible
wilderness with an evident rapture at his heart which
we envy him as we read. He was, indeed, the man
to journey amid all that solemn desolation which he,


14 TALES.
plainly, so loved to depict. His was the proper spirit
to perceive; his the true ability to feel. We look,
therefore, upon his MS. as a rich treasure — in its
way absolutely unsurpassed — indeed, never equalled.
That the events of this narrative have hitherto lain
perdus,- that even the fact of the Rocky Mountains
having been crossed by Mr. Rodman prior to the
expedition of Lewis and Clarke, has never been made
public, or at all alluded to in the works of any writer
on American geography, (for it certainly never has
been thus alluded to, as tar as we can ascertain,) must
be regarded as very remarkable — indeed, as exceed-
ingly strange. The only reference to the journey at
all, of which we can hear in any direction, is said to
be contained in an unpublished letter of M. Michau's,
in the possession of Mr. W. Wyatt, of Charlottesville,
Virginia. It is there spoken of in a casual way, and
collaterally, as "a gigantic idea wonderfully carried
out." If there has been any farther allusion to the
journey, we know nothing of it.
Before entering upon Mr. Rodman's own relation,
it will not be improper to glance at what has been
done by others, in the way of discovery, upon the
north-western portion of our continent. If the reader
will turn to a map of North America, he will be better
enabled to follow us in our observations.
It will be seen that the continent extends from the
Arctic Ocean, or from about the 70th parallel of north
latitude, to the 9th; and from the 56th meridian west
of Greenwich, to the 168th. The whole of this
immense extent of territory has been visited by civil-
ized man, in a greater or less degree; and indeed a
very large portion of it has been permanently settled.
But there is an exceedingly wide tract which is still


JULIUS RODMAN. 15
marked upon all our maps as unexplored, and which,
until this day, has always been so considered. This
tract lies within the 60th parallel on the south,
the Arctic Ocean on the north, the Rocky Moun-
tains on the west, and the possessions of Russia
on the east. To Mr. Rodman, however, belongs the
honor of having traversed this singularly wild region
in many directions,- and the most interesting particu-
lars of the narrative now published have reference to
his adventures and discoveries therein.
Perhaps the earliest travels of any extent made in
North America by white people, were those of Henne-
pin and his friends, in 1698 — but as his researches
were mostly in the south, we do not feel called upon
to speak of them more fully.
Mr. Irving, in his Astoria, mentions the attempt of
Captain Jonathan Carver, as being the first ever made
to cross the continent from the Atlantic to the Pacific
Ocean; but in this he appears to be mistaken; for we
find, in one of the journals of Sir Alexander Mackenzie,
that two different enterprises were set on foot, with
that especial object in view, by the Hudson Bay Fur
Company, the one in 1758, the other as early as
1749; both of which are supposed to have entirely
failed, as no accounts of the actual expeditions are
extant. It was in 1763, shortly after the acquisition
of the Canadas by Great Britain, that Captain Carver
undertook the journey. His intention was to cross
the country, between the forty-third and forty-sixth
degrees of north latitude, to the shores of the Pacific.
His object was to ascertain the breadth of the continent
at its broadest part, and to determine upon some place,
on the western coast, where government might estab-
lish a post to facilitate the discovery of a north-west


16 TALES.
passage, or a communication between Hudson's Bay,
and the Pacific Ocean. He had supposed that the
Columbia, then termed the Oregon, disembogued it-
self somewhere about the straits of Annian; and it
was here that he expected the post to be formed. He
thought, also, that a settlement in this neighborhood
would disclose new sources of trade, and open a more
direct communication with China, and the British
possessions in the East Indies, than the old route
afforded, by the Cape of Good Hope. He was
baffled, however, in his attempt to cross the mountains.
In point of time, the next important expedition, in
the northern portion of America, was that of Samuel
Hearne, who, with the object of discovering copper
mines, pushed north-westwardlv during the years 1769,
'70, '71, and '72, from the Prince of Wales' Fort, in
Hudson's Bay, as far as the shores of the Arctic Ocean.
We have, after this, to record a second attempt of
Captain Carver's,which was set on foot in 1774, anc^
in which he was joined by Richard Whitworth, a
member of Parliament, and a man of wealth. We only
notice this enterprise on account of the extensive scale
on which it was projected; for in fact it was never
carried into execution. The gentlemen were to take
with them fifty or sixty men, artificers and mariners,
and, with these, make their way up one of the
branches of the Missouri, explore the mountains for
the source of the Oregon, and sail down that river to
its supposed mouth, near the straits of Annian. Here
a fort was to be built, as well as vessels for the purpose
of farther discovery. The undertaking was stopped by
the breaking out of the American revolution.
As early as 1775, the fur trade had been carried by
the Canadian missionaries, north and west to the banks
^&^


JULIUS RODMAN. 17
of the Saskatchawine River, in 53 north latitude, ioz
west longitude; and, in the beginning of 1776, Mr.
Joseph Frobisher proceeded, in this direction, as far as
55, N. and 103, W.
In 1778, Mr. Peter Bond, with four canoes, pushed
on to the Elk River, about thirty miles south of its
junction with the Lake of the Hills.
We have now to mention another attempt, which
was baffled at its very outset, to cross the broadest por-
tion of the continent from ocean to ocean. This
attempt is scarcely known by the public to have been
made at all, and is mentioned by Mr. Jefferson alone,
and by him only in a cursory way. Mr. J. relates
that Ledyard called upon him in Paris, panting for some
new enterprise, after his successful voyage with Cap-
tain Cook; and that he (Mr. J.) proposed to him that
he should go by land to Kamschatka, cross in some of
the Russian vessels to Nootka Sound, fall down into the
latitude of the Missouri, and then, striking through the
country, pass down that river to the United States. —
Ledyard agreed to the proposal provided the permission
of the Russian Government could be obtained. Mr.
Jefferson succeeded in obtaining this; and the traveller,
setting out from Paris, arrived at St. Petersburgh after
the Empress had left that place to pass the winter at
Moscow. His finances not permitting him to make
unnecessary stay at St. P., he continued on his route
with a passport from one of the ministers, and, at two
hundred miles from Kamschatka, was arrested by an
officer of the Empress, who had changed her mind,
and now forbade his proceeding. He was put into a
close carriage, and driven day and night, without stop-
ping, till he reached Poland, where he was set down
and dismissed. Mr. Jefferson, in speaking of Ledyard's
VOL. 1V—2


18 TALES.
undertaking, erroneously calls it "the first attempt to
explore the western part of our northern continent."
The next enterprise of moment was the remarkable
one of Sir Alexander Mackenzie, which was prosecuted
in 1789. He started from Montreal, pushed through
the Utawas River, Lake Nipissing, Lake Huron, around
the northern shore of Lake Superior, through what is
called the Grand Portage, thence along Rain River, the
Lake of the Woods, Bonnet Lake, the upper part of
Dog-Head Lake, the south coast of Lake Winnipeg,
through Cedar Lake and past the mouth of the Saskat-
chawine, to Sturgeon Lake; thence again, by portage,
to the Missinipi, and through Black Bear, Primo's and
Buffalo Lakes, to a range of high mountains running
N.E. and S.W. — then taking Elk River to the Lake
of the Hills — then passing through Slave River to
Slave Lake — around the northern shore of this latter
to Mackenzie's River, and down this, lastly, to the
Polar Sea — an immense journey, during which he
encountered dangers innumerable, and hardships of the
severest kind. In the whole of his course down
Mackenzie's River to its embouchure, he passed along
the bottom of the eastern declivity of the Rocky Moun-
tains, but never crossed these barriers. In the spring
of 1793, however, starting from Montreal and pursu-
ing the route of his first journey as far as the mouth of
the Unjigah or Peace River, he then turned off to the
westward, up this stream, pushed through the Moun-
tains in latitude 56, then proceeded to the south until
he struck a river which he called the Salmon (now
Frazer's) and following this, finally reached the Pacific
in about the 40th parallel of N.L.
The memorable expedition of Captains Lewis and
Clarke was in progress during the years 1804, '5, and


JULIUS RODMAN. 19
'6. In 1803, the act for establishing trading houses
with the Indian tribes being about to expire, some
modifications of it (with an extension of its views to
the Indians on the Missouri) were recommended to
Congress by a confidential Message from Mr. Jefferson,
of January 18th. In order to prepare the way, it was
proposed to send a party to trace the Missouri to its
source, cross the Rocky Mountains, and follow the best
water communication which offered itself thence to the
Pacific Ocean. This design was fully carried out; cap-
tain Lewis exploring (but not first "discovering" as
Mr. Irving relates) the upper waters of the Columbia
River, and following the course of that stream to its
embouchure. The head waters of the Columbia were
visited by Mackenzie as early as 1793.
Coincident with the exploring tour of Lewis and
Clarke up the Missouri, was that of Major Zebulon
M. Pike up the Mississippi, which he succeeded in
tracing to its source in Itasca Lake. Upon his return
from this voyage he penetrated, by the orders of govern-
ment, from the Mississippi westwardly, during the years
1805, '6, and '7, to the head waters of the Arkansas
(beyond the Rocky Mountains in latitude 40 N.) pass-
ing along the Osage and Kanzas rivers, and to the source
of the Platte.
In 1810, Mr. David Thompson, a partner of the
North-West Fur Company, set out from Montreal,
with a strong party, to cross the continent to the Pacific.
The first part of the route was that of Mackenzie in
1793. The object was to anticipate a design of Mr.
John Jacob Astor's — to wit, the establishment of a
trading post at the mouth of the Columbia. Most of
his people deserted him on the eastern side of the moun-
tains; but he finally succeeded in crossing the chain,


20 TALES.
with only eight follower*, when he struck the northern
branch of the Columbia, and descended that river from
a point much nearer its source than any white man
hap done before.
In 1811, Mr. Aster's own remarkable enterprise
was carried into effect — at least so far as the journey
across the country is concerned. As Mr. Irving has
already made all readers well acquainted with the par-
ticulars of this journey, we need only mention it in
brief. The design we have just spoken of. The track
of the party (under command of Mr. Wilson Price
Hunt) was from Montreal, up the Utawas, through
Lake Nipissing, and a succession of small lakes and
rivers, to Michilimackinac, or Mackinaw — thence by
Green Bay, Fox and Wisconsin rivers, to the Prairie du
Chien — thence down the Mississippi to St. Louis —
thence up the Missouri, to the village of the Arickara
Indians, between the 46th and 47th parallels of N.
latitude, and fourteen hundred and thirty miles above
the mouth of the river — thence, bending to the south-
west across the desert, over the mountains about where
the head waters of the Platte and Yellowstone take rise,
and, along the south branch of the Columbia, to the
sea. Two small return parties from this expedition
made most perilous and eventful passages across the
country.
The travels of Major Stephen H. Long are the next
important ones in point of time. This gentleman, in
1823, proceeded to the source of St. Peter's River, to
Lake Winnipeg, to the Lake of the Woods, &c, &c.
Of the more recent journeys of Captain Bonneville and
others it is scarcely necessary to speak, as they still dwell
in the public memory. Captain B.'s adventures have
been well related by Mr. Irving. In 1832, he passed


JULIUS RODMAN. 21
from Fort Osage across the Rocky Mountains, and spent
nearly three years in the regions beyond. Within the
Emits of the United States there is very little ground
which has not, of late years, been traversed by the man
of science, or the adventurer. But in those wide and
desolate regions which lie north of our territory, and to
the westward of Mackenzie's River, the foot of no
civilized man, with the exception of Mr. Rodman and
his very small party, has ever been known to tread. In
regard to the question of the first passage across the
Rocky Mountains, it will be seen, from what we have
already said, that the credit of the enterprise should
never have been given to Lewis and Clarke, since
Mackenzie succeeded in it, in the year 1793; and that
in point of fact, Mr. Rodman was the first who over-
came those gigantic barriers; crossing them as he did
in 1792. Thus it is not without good reason that we
claim public attention for the extraordinary narrative
which ensues.
[Signed Eds. G. M.]


CHAPTER II.
After the death of my father, and both sisters, I
took no farther interest in our plantation at the Point,
and sold it, at a complete sacrifice, to M. Junot. I
had often thought of trapping up the Missouri, and
resolved now to go on an expedition up that river, and
try to procure peltries, which I was sure of being able
to sell at Petite Cite to the private agents of the North-
West Fur Company. I believed that much more prop-
erty might be acquired in this way, with a little enterprise
and courage, than I could make by any other means.
I had always been fond, too, of hunting and trapping,
although I had never made a business of either, and I
had a great desire to explore some portion of our west-
ern country, about which Pierre Junot had often spoken
to me. He was the eldest son of the neighbor who
brought me out, and was a man of strange manners and
somewhat eccentric turn of mind, but still one of the
best-hearted fellows in the world, and certainly as
courageous a man as ever drew breath, although of no
great bodily strength. He was of Canadian descent,
and having gone, once or twice, on short excursions for
the Fur Company, in which he had acted as voyageur,
was fond of calling himself one, and of talking about
his trips. My father had been very fond of Pierre, and
I thought a good deal of him myself; he was a great
favorite, too, with my younger sister, Jane, and I be-
lieve they would have been married had it been God's
will to have spared her.


JULIUS RODMAN. 23
When Pierre discovered that I had not entirely made
up my mind what course to pursue after my father's
peath, he urged me to fit out a small expedition for the
river, in which he would accompany me; and he had
no difficulty in bringing me over to his wishes. We
agreed to push up the Missouri as long as we found it pos-
sible, hunting and trapping as we went, and not to return
until we had secured as many peltries as would be a for-
tune for us both. His father made no objection, and gave
him about three hundred dollars; when we proceeded
to Petite Cote for the purpose of getting our equipments,
and raising as many men as we could for the voyage.
Petite Cite1 is a small place on the north bank of
the Missouri, about twenty miles from its junction with
the Mississippi. It lies at the foot of a range of low
hills, and upon a sort of ledge, high enough above the
river to be out of reach of the June freshets. There
are not more than five or six houses, and these of wood,
in the upper part of the place; but, nearer to the east,
there is a chapel and twelve or fifteen good dwellings,
running parallel with the river. There are about a
hundred inhabitants, mostly Creoles of Canadian de-
scent. They are extremely indolent, and make no
attempt at cultivating the country around them, which
is a rich soil; except now and then when a little is done
in the way of gardening. They live principally by
hunting, and trading with the Indians for peltries, which
they sell again to the North-West Company's agents.
We expected to meet with no difficulty here in getting
recruits for our journey, or equipments, but were dis-
appointed in both particulars; for the place was too poor
in every respect to furnish all that we wanted, so as to
render our voyage safe and efficient.
1 Now St. Charles. — Eds. G. M.


24 TALES.
We designed to pass through the heart of a country
infested with Indian tribes, of whom we knew nothing
except by vague report, and whom we had every reason
to believe ferocious and treacherous. It was therefore
particularly necessary that we should go well provided
with arms and ammunition, as well as in some force as
regards numbers; and if our voyage was to be a source
of profit, we must take with us canoes of sufficient
capacity to bring home what peltries we might collect.
It was the middle of March when we first reached
Petite Cite, and we did not succeed in getting ready
until the last of May. We had to send twice down
the river to the Point for men and supplies, and neither
could be obtained except at great cost. We should
have failed at last in getting many things absolutely
requisite, if it had not so happened that Pierre met with
a party on its return from a trip up the Mississippi, and
engaged six of its best men, besides a canoe or piroque;
purchasing, at the same time, most of the surplus stores
and ammunition.
This seasonable aid enabled us to get fairly ready for
the voyage before the first of June. On the third of
this month (1791) we bid adieu to our friends at Petite
Cite, and started on our expedition. Our party con-
sisted in all of fifteen persons. Of these, five were
Canadians from Petite Cite, and had all been on short
excursions up the river. They were good boatmen,
and excellent companions, as far as singing French songs
went, and drinking, at which they were pre-eminent;
although, in truth, it was a rare thing to see any of them
to far the worse for liquor, as to be incapable of attend-
ing to duty. They were always in a good humor, and
always ready to work; but as hunters I did not think
them worth much, and as fighting men I soon discovered


JULIUS RODMAN. 2$
they were not to be depended upon. There were two
of these five Canadians who engaged to act as interpre-
ters for the first five or six hundred miles up the river
(should we proceed so far) and then we hoped to procure
an Indian occasionally to interpret, should it be necessary;
but we had resolved to avoid, as far as possible, any
meetings with the Indians, and rather to trap ourselves,
than run the great risk of trading, with so small a party
as we numbered. It was our policy to proceed with
the greatest caution, and expose ourselves to notice
only when we could not avoid it.
The six men whom Pierre had engaged from aboard
the return Mississippi boat were as different a set from
the Canadians as could well be imagined. Five of
them were brothers, by the name of Greely (John,
Robert, Meredith, Frank, and Poindexter) and bolder
or finer looking persons it would have been difficult to
find. John Greely was the eldest and stoutest of the
five, and had the reputation of being the strongest man,
as well as best shot in Kentucky — from which State
they all came. He was full six feet in height, and of
most extraordinary breadth across the shoulders, with
large strongly-knit limbs. Like most men of great
physical strength, he was exceedingly good-tempered,
and on this account was greatly beloved by us all. The
other four brothers were all strong well-built men, too,
although not to be compared with John. Poindexter
was as tall, but very gaunt, and of a singularly fierce
appearance; but, like his elder brother, he was of
peaceable demeanor. All of them were experienced
hunters and capital shots. They had gladly accepted
Pierre's offer to go with us, and we made an arrange-
ment with them which ensured them an equal share
with Pierre and myself in the profits of the enterprise


26 TALES.
— that is to say, we divided the proceeds into three
parts; one of which was to be mine, one Pierre's, and
one shared among the five brothers.
The sixth man whom we enlisted from the return
boat was, also, a good recruit. His name was Alexander
Wormley, a Virginian, and a very strange character.
He had originally been a preacher of the gospel, and
had afterwards fancied himself a prophet, going about
the country with a long beard and hair, and in his
bare feet, haranguing every one he met. This hallu-
cination was now diverted into another channel, and
he thought of nothing else than of finding gold mines
in some of the fastnesses of the country. Upon this
subject he was as entirely mad as any man could well
be; but upon all others was remarkably sensible and
even acute. He was a good boatman, and a good
hunter, and as brave a fellow as ever stepped, besides
being of great bodily strength and swiftness of foot.
I counted much upon this recruit, on account of his
enthusiastic character, and in the end I was not de-
ceived, as will appear.
Our other two recruits were a negro belonging to
Pierre Junot, named Toby, and a stranger whom we
had picked up in the woods near Mills' Point, and
who joined our expedition upon the instant as soon
as we mentioned our design. His name was Andrew
Thornton, also a Virginian, and I believe of excellent
family, belonging to the Thorntons of the northern
part of the State. He had been from Virginia about
three years; during the whole of which time he had
been rambling about the western country, with no
other companion than a large dog of the Newfoundland
species. He had collected no peltries, and did not
seem to have any object in view, more than the grati-


JULIUS RODMAN. 2J
ficarion of a roving and adventurous propensity. He
frequently amused us, when sitting around our camp
fires at night, with the relation of his adventures and
hardships in the wilderness — recounting them with a
straight-forward earnestness which left us no room to
doubt their truth; although indeed, many of them had
a marvellous air. Experience afterwards taught us
that the dangers and difficulties of the solitary hunter
can scarcely be exaggerated, and that the real task is to
depict them to the hearer in sufficiently distinct colors.
I took a great liking to Thornton, from the first hour
in which I saw him.
I have only said a few words respecting Toby; but
he was not the least important personage of our party.
He had been in old M. JunSt's family for a great num-
ber of years, and had proved himself a faithful negro.
He was rather too old to accompany such an expedi-
tion as ours; but Pierre was not willing to leave him.
He was an able-bodied man, however, and still capable
of enduring great fatigue. Pierre himself was probably
the feeblest of our whole company, as regards bodily
strength, but he possessed great sagacity, and a courage
which nothing could daunt. His manners were some-
times extravagant and boisterous, which led him to get
into frequent quarrels, and had once or twice seriously
endangered the success of our expedition; but he was
a true friend, and in that one point I considered him
invaluable.
I have now given a brief account of all our party, as
it was when we left Petite Cote.1 To carry ourselves
1 Mr. Rodman has not given any description of himself; and the
account of his party is by no means complete without a portraiture of
its leader. "He was about twenty-five year s of age," says Mr. James
Rodman in a memorandum now before us, " when he started up the


28 TALES.
and accoutrements, as well as to bring home what pel-
tries might be obtained, we had two large boats. The
smallest of these was a piroque made of birch bark,
sewed together with the fibres of the roots of the spruce
tree, the seams payed with pine resin, and the whole
so light that six men could carry it with ease. It was
twenty feet long, and could be rowed with from four
to twelve oars; drawing about eighteen inches water
when loaded to the gunwale, and, when empty, not
more than ten. The other was a keel-boat which we had
made at Petite Cote (the canoe having been purchased
by Pierre from the Mississippi party). It was thirty feet
long, and, when loaded to the gunwale, drew two feet
water. It had a deck for twenty feet of its length for-
ward, forming a cuddy-cabin, with a strong door, and
of sufficient dimensions to contain our whole party with
close crowding, as the boat was very broad. This part
of it was bullet-proof, being wadded with oakum between
two coatings of oak-plank; and in several positions we
had small holes bored, through which we could have fired
upon an enemy in case of attack, as well as observe
their movements; these holes, at the same time, gave
us air and light, when we closed the door; and we had
secure plugs to fit them when necessary. The remain-
ing ten feet of the length was open, and here we could
use as many as six oars — but our main dependence was
upon poles which we employed by walking along the
deck. We had also a short mast, easily shipped and
unshipped, which was stepped about seven feet from
river. He was a remarkably vigorous and active man, but short
in stature, not being more than five feet three or four inches high —
strongly built, with legs somewhat bowed. His physiognomy was of
a Jewish cast, his lips thin, and his complexion saturnine."
— Eds. G. M.


JULIUS RODMAN. 2Q
the bow, and upon which we set a large square sail
when the wind was fair, taking in mast and all when it
was ahead.
In a division made in the bow, under deck, we
deposited ten kegs of good powder, and as much
lead as we considered proportionate, one tenth ready
moulded in rifle bullets. We had also stowed away
here, a small brass cannon and carriage, dismounted and
taken to pieces, so as to lie in little compass, think-
ing that such means of defence might possibly come
into play at some period of our expedition. This
cannon was one of three which had been brought
down the Missouri by the Spaniards two years pre-
viously, and lost overboard from a piroque, some miles
above Petite Cote. A sand-bar had so far altered the
channel at the place where the canoe capsized, that an
Indian discovered one of the guns, and procured assist-
ance to carry it down to the settlement, where he sold
it for a gallon of whiskey. The people at Petite Cote
then went up and procured the other two. They were
very small guns, but of good metal, and beautiful
workmanship, being carved and ornamented with ser-
pents like some of the French field pieces. Fifty iron
balls were found with the guns, and these we procured.
I mention the way in which we obtained this cannon,
because it performed an important part in some of our
operations, as will be found hereafter. Besides it, we
had fifteen spare rifles, boxed up, and deposited forward
with the other heavy goods. We put the weight
here, to sink our bows well in the water, which is the
best method, on account of the snags and sawyers in
the river.
In the way of other arms we were sufficiently
provided; each man having a stout hatchet, and knife,


30 TALES.
betides his ordinary rifle and ammunition. Each boat
was provided with a camp kettle, three large axes, a
towing-line, two oil-cloths to cover the goods when
necessary, and two large sponges for bailing. The
piroque had also a small mast and sail, (which I omit-
ted to mention,) and carried a quantity of gum, birch-
bark and watape, to make repairs with. She, also,
had in charge all the Indian goods which we had
thought necessary to bring with us, and which we
purchased from the Mississippi boat. It was not our
design to trade with the Indians; but these goods were
offered us at a low rate, and we thought it better to
take them, as they might prove of service. They
consisted of silk and cotton handkerchiefs; thread,
lines, and twine; hats, shoes, and hose; small cutlery
and ironmongery; calicoes and printed cottons; Man-
chester goods; twist and carrot tobacco; milled blank-
ets; and glass toys, beads, &c, &c. All these were
done up in small packages, three of which were a
man's load. The provisions were also put up so as
to be easily handled; and a part was deposited in each
boat. We had, altogether, two hundred weight of
pork, six hundred weight of biscuit, and six hundred
weight of pemmican. This we had made at Pttite
Cite by the Canadians, who told us that it was used
by the North-West Fur Company in all their long
voyages, when it is feared that game may not prove
abundant. It is manufactured in a singular manner.
The lean parts of the flesh of the larger animals is cut
into thin slices, and placed on a wooden grate over a
slow fire, or exposed to the sun (as ours was) or some-
times to the frost. When it is sufficiently dried in this
way, it is pounded between two heavy stones, and will
then keep for years. If, however, much of it is kept


JULIUS RODMAN. 31
together, it ferments upon the breaking up of the frost
in the spring, and, if not well exposed to the air, soon
decays. The inside fat, with that of the rump, is
melted down and mixed, in a boiling state, with the
pounded meat, half and half; it is then squeezed into
bags, and is ready to eat without any farther cooking,
being very palatable without salt, or vegetables. The
best pemmican is made with the addition of marrow
and dried berries, and is a capital article of food.1 Our
whiskey was in carboys, of five gallons each, and we
had twenty of these, a hundred gallons in all.
When every thing was well on board, with our
whole company, including Thornton's dog, we found
that there was but little room to spare, except in the
big cabin, which we wished to preserve free of goods,
as a sleeping place in bad weather; we had nothing
in here except arms and ammunition, with some
beaver-traps and a carpet of bear-skins. Our crowded
state suggested an expedient which ought to have been
adopted at all events; that of detaching four hunters
from the party, to course along the river banks, and
1 The pemmican here described by Mr. Rodman is altogether new
to in, and is very different from that with which our readers have no
doubt been familiarised in the journals of Parry, Ross, Back, and other
northern voyagers. This, if we remember, was prepared by long con-
tinued boiling of the lean meat (carefully excluding fat) until the soup
was reduced to a very small proportion of its original bulk, and as-
sumed a pulpy consistency. To this residue, many spices and much
salt were added, and great nutriment was supposed to be contained in
little bulk. The positive experience of an American surgeon, how-
ever, who had an opportunity of witnessing, and experimenting upon,
the digestive process through an open wound in the stomach of a
patient, has demonstrated that bulk is, in itself, an essential in this
process, and that consequently the condensation of the nutritive
property of food, involves, in a great measure, a paradox.
—Eds. G. M.


32 TALES.
keep us in game, as well as to act in capacity of scouts,
to warn us of the approach of Indians. With this
object we procured two good horses, giving one of
them in charge of Robert and Meredith Greely, who
were to keep upon the south bank; and the other in
charge of Frank and Poindeiter (Greely), who were to
coarse along the north side. By means of the horses
they coed bnng in what game was shot.
'Hiis arrangement relieved our boats very consider-
ably, lessening our number to eleven. In the small
boat were two of the men from Petite Cite, with
T«x>r and Pkrre Jandt. In the large one were the
Prochet (as we called him) or Alexander Wormley,
Jo&n Greely, Andrew Thornton, three of the Petite
O.V men, and myself, with Thornton's dog.
Our mope of proceeding was sometimes with oars,
but not generally; we most frequently pulled ourselves
akirag by the limbs of trees on shore; or, where the
grounp permitted k, we used a tow-line, which is the
easiest way; some of us being on shore to haul, while
some remained on hoard, to set the boat off shore with
poles. Very orten we poled altogether. In this
methop, (which b a good one when the bottom is
not too muppy or rull of quicksands, and when the
pepth of water is not too great) the Canadians are
wry expert, as weil as at rowing. They use long,
stiff, and %ht poles, pointed with iron; with these
they proceep to the bow of the boat, an equal number
of men at each side; the tace is then turned to the
stern, and the pole inserted in the river, reaching the
bottom; a firm hold being thus taken, the boatmen
apply the heads of the poles to the shoulder, which is
protected by a cushion, and, pushing in this manner,
while they walk along the gunwale, the boat is urged


JULIUS RODMAN. 33
forward with great force. There is no necessity for
any steersman, while using the pole; for the poles
direct the vessel with wonderful accuracy.
In these various modes of getting along, now and
then varied with the necessity of wading, and dragging
our vessels by hand, in rapid currents, or through
shallow water, we commenced our eventful voyage up
the Missouri River. The skins which were considered
as the leading objects of the expedition were to be
obtained, principally, by hunting and trapping, as
privately as possible, and without direct trade with
the Indians, whom we had long learned to know as,
in the main, a treacherous race, not to be dealt with
safely in so small a party as ours. The furs usually
collected by previous adventurers upon our contem-
plated route, included beaver, otter, marten, lynx,
mink, musquash, bear, fox, kitt-fox, wolverine, raccoon,
fisher, wolf, buffalo, deer, and elk; but we proposed
to confine ourselves to the more costly kinds.
The morning on which we set out from Petite
Cite was one of the most inspiring, and delicious; and
nothing could exceed the hilarity of our whole party.
The summer had hardly yet commenced, and the
wind, which blew a strong breeze against us, at first
starting, had all the voluptuous softness of spring. The
sun shone clearly, but with no great heat. The ice
had disappeared from the river, and the current, which
was pretty full, concealed all those marshy, and ragged
alluvia which disfigure the borders of the Missouri at
low water. It had now the most majestic appearance,
washing up among the willows and cotton-wood on
one side, and rushing, with a bold volume, by the
sharp cliffs on the other. As I looked up the stream
(which here stretched away to the westward, until the
vol. iv — 3


34 TALES.
waters apparently met the sky in the great distance)
and reflected on the immensity of territory through
which those waters had probably passed, a territory as
yet altogether unknown to white people, and perhaps
abounding in the magnificent works of God, I felt
an excitement of soul such as I had never before ex-
perienced, and secretly resolved that it should be no
slight obstacle which should prevent my pushing up
this noble river farther than any previous adventurer
had done. At that moment I seemed possessed of an
energy more than human; and my animal spirits rose
to so high a degree that I could with difficulty content
myself in the narrow limits of the boat. I longed to
be with the Greelys on the bank, that I might give full
vent to the feelings which inspired me, by leaping and
running in the prairie. In these feelings Thornton
participated strongly, evincing a deep interest in our
expedition, and an admiration of the beautiful scenery
around us, which rendered him from that moment a
particular favorite with myself. I never, at any period
of my life, felt so keenly as I then did the want of
some friend to whom I could converse freely, and
without danger of being misunderstood. The sudden
loss of all my relatives by death, had saddened, but
not depressed my spirits, which appeared to seek
relief in a contemplation of the wild scenes of Nature;
and these scenes and the reflections which they en-
couraged, could not, I found, be thoroughly enjoyed,
without the society of some one person of reciprocal
sentiments. Thornton was precisely the kind of in-
dividual to whom I could unburthen my full heart,
and unburthen it of all its extravagant emotion, with-
out fear of incurring a shadow of ridicule, and even
in the certainty of finding a listener as impassioned as


JULIUS RODMAN. 35
myself. I never, before or since, met with any one
who so fully entered into my own notions respecting
natural scenery; and this circumstance alone was suffi-
cient to bind him to me in a firm friendship. We
were as intimate, during our whole expedition, as
brothers could possibly be, and I took no steps without
consulting him. Pierre and myself were also friends,
but there was not the tie of reciprocal thought between
us — that strongest of all mortal bonds. His nature,
although sensitive, was too volatile, to comprehend all
the devotional fervor of my own.
The incidents of the first day of our voyage had
nothing remarkable in them; except that we had some
difficulty in forcing our way, towards nightfall, by the
mouth of a large cave on the south side of the river.
This cave had a very dismal appearance as we passed
it, being situated at the foot of a lofty bluff, full two
hundred feet high, and jutting somewhat over the
stream. We could not distinctly perceive the depth
of the cavern, but it was about sixteen or seventeen
feet high, and at least fifty in width.1 The current
1 The cave here mentioned is that called the "Tavern" by the
traders and boatmen. Some grotesque images are painted on the
dins, and commanded, at one period, great respect from the Indians.
In speaking o( this cavern, Captain Lewis says that it is a hundred
and twenty feet wide, twenty feet high, and forty deep, and that
rhe bluffs overhanging it arc nearly three hundred feet high. We
wish to call attention to the circumstance that, in every point,
Mr. R.'s account falls short of Captain Lewis's. With all his
evident enthusiasm, our traveller is never prone to the exaggeration
of facts. In a great variety of instances like the present, it will be
found that his statements respecting quantity (in the full sense of
the term) always fall -within the truth, as this truth is since ascer-
tained. We regard this as a remarkable trait in his mind; and it
is assuredly one which should entitle his observations to the highest
credit, when they concern regions about which we know nothing


36 TALES.
ran past it with great velocity, and, as from the nature
of the cliff we could not tow, it required the utmost
exertion to make our way by it; which we at length
effected by getting all of us, with the exception of
one man, into the large boat. This one remained in
the piroque, and anchored it below the cave. By
uniting our force, then, in rowing, we brought the large
boat up beyond the difficult pass, paying out a line to
the piroque as we proceeded, and by this line hauling
it up after us, when we had fairly ascended. We
passed, during the day, Bonhomme and Osage Femme
Rivers, with two small creeks, and several islands of
little extent. We made about twenty-five miles, not-
withstanding the head wind, and encamped at night
on the north bank, and at the foot of a rapid called
Diable.
June the fourth. Early this morning, Frank and
Poindexter Greely came into our camp with a fat
buck, upon which we all breakfasted in high glee, and
afterwards pushed on with spirit. At the Diable rapid,
the current sets with much force against some rocks
which jut out from the south and render the navigation
difficult. A short distance above this we met with
beyond these observations. In all points which relate to effects, on
the contrary, Mr. Rodman's peculiar temperament leads him into
exeat. For example, he speaks of the cavern now in question, at
of a dismal appearance, and the coloring of his narrative respecting
it is derived principally from the sombre hue of his own spirit, at
the time of passing the rock. It will be as well to bear these dis-
tinctions in mind, as we read his journal. His facts are never
heightened; his impressions from these facts must have, to ordinary
perceptions, a tone of exaggeration. Yet there is no falsity in this
exaggeration, except in view of a general sentiment upon the thing
seen and described. As regards his own mind, the apparent gaudi-
ness of color is the absolute and only true tint. — Eds. G. M.


JULIUS RODMAN. 37
several quicksand bars, which put us to trouble; the
banks of the river here fall in continually, and, in the
process of time, must greatly alter the bed. At eight
o'clock we had a fine fresh wind from the eastward,
and, with its assistance, made rapid progress, so that by
night we had gone perhaps thirty miles, or more. We
passed, on the north, the river Du Bois, a creek called
Charite,1 and several small islands. The river was
rising fast as we came to, at night, under a group of
cotton-wood( trees, there being no ground near at hand
upon which we were disposed to encamp. It was
beautiful weather, and I felt too much excited to
sleep; so, asking Thornton to accompany me, I took
a stroll into the country, and did not return until
nearly daylight. The rest of our crew occupied the
cabin, for the first time, and found it quite roomy
enough for five or six more persons. They had been
disturbed, in the night, by a strange noise overhead,
on deck, the origin of which they had not been able
to ascertain; as, when some of the party rushed out
to see, the disturber had disappeared. From the
account given of the noise, I concluded that it must
have proceeded from an Indian dog, who had scented
our fresh provisions (the buck of yesterday) and was
endeavoring to make off with a portion. In this view
I felt perfectly satisfied; but the occurrence suggested
the great risk we ran in not posting a regular watch at
night, and it was agreed to do so for the future.
[Having thus given, in Mr. Rodman's own words,
the incidents of the first two days of the voyage, we
forbear to follow him minutely in his passage up the
Missouri to the mouth of the Platte, at which he
1 La Charatt T Du Boil is no doubt Wood River. — Edi.
G. M.


38 TALES.
arrived on the tenth of August. The character of the
river throughout this extent is so well known, and has
been so frequently described, that any farther account
of it is unnecessary; and the Journal takes note of
little else, at this portion of the tour, than the natural
features of the country — together with the ordinary
boating and hunting occurrences. The party made
three several halts for the purpose of trapping, but met
with no great success; and finally concluded to push
farther into the heart of the country, before making
any regular attempts at collecting peltries. Only two
events, of moment, are recorded, for the two months
which we omit. One of these was the death of a
Canadian, Jacques Lauzanne, by the bite of a rattle-
snake ;—the other was the encountering a Spanish com-
mission sent to intercept and turn the party back, by
order of the commandant of The province. The
officer in charge of the detachment, however, was so
much interested in the expedition, and took so great
a fancy to Mr. Rodman, that our travellers were per-
mitted to proceed. Many small bodies of Osage and
Kanzas Indians hovered occasionally about the boats,
but evinced nothing of hostility. We leave the voy-
agers for the present, therefore, at the mouth of the
river Platte, on the tenth of August, 1791 — their
number having been reduced to fourteen.1J
1 The record ends here, Gentleman'i Mag., February, 1840. —
Eo.


CHAPTER III.1
[Having reached the mouth of the river Platte, our
voyagers encamped for three days, during which they
were busily occupied in drying and airing their goods
and provisions, making new oars and poles, and repair-
ing the birch canoe, which had sustained material injury.
The hunters brought in an abundance of game, with
which the boats were loaded to repletion. Deer was
had for the asking, and turkeys and fat grouse were met
with in great plenty. The party, moreover, regaled
on several species of fish, and, at a short distance from
the river banks, found an exquisite kind of wild grape.
No Indians had been seen for better than a fortnight, as
this was the hunting season, and they were doubtless
engaged in the prairies, taking buffalo. After perfectly
recruiting, the voyagers broke up their encampment,
and pushed on up the Missouri. We resume the words
of the Journal.J
August 14. We started with a delightful breeze
from the S.E., and kept along by the Southern shore,
taking advantage of the eddy, and going at a great rate,
notwithstanding the current, which, in the middle, was
unusually full and strong. At noon, we stopped to
examine some remarkable mounds on the south-western
shore, at a spot where the ground seems to have sunk
considerably to an extent of three hundred acres, or
more. A large pond is in the vicinity, and appears to
have drained the low tract. This is covered with
1 The record ii resumed here, Gentleman'1 Mag,, March, 1840.
— Ed.
39


40 TALES.
mounds of various sizes, and shapes, all formed of sand
and mud, the highest being nearest the river. I could
not make up my mind whether these hillocks were of
natural or artificial construction. I should have sup-
posed them made by the Indians, but for the general ap-
pearance of the soil, which had apparently been subjected
to the violent action of water.1 We staid at this spot the
rest of the day, having made altogether twenty miles.
August 15. To-day we had a heavy, disagreeable
head wind, and made only fifteen miles, with great
labor; encamping at night beneath a bluff on the
north shore, this being the first bluff1 on that side which
we had seen since leaving the Nodaway River. In the
night it came on to rain in torrents, and the Greelys
brought in their horses, and ensconced themselves in
the cabin. Robert swam the river with his horse from
the South shore, and then took the canoe across for
Meredith. He appeared to think nothing of either of
these feats, although the night was one of the darkest
and most boisterous I ever saw, and the river was much
swollen. We all sat in the cabin very comfortably,
for the weather was quite cool, and were kept awake
for a long time by the anecdotes of Thornton, who
told story after story of his adventures with the Indians
on the Mississippi. His huge dog appeared to listen
with profound attention to every word that was said.
Whenever any particularly incredible circumstance was
related, Thornton would gravely refer to him as a
witness. "Nep," he would say, " don't you remem-
1 These mounds are now well understood to indicate the position
of the ancient village of the Ottoes, who were once a very power-
ful tribe. Being reduced by continual hostilities, they sought pro-
tection of the Pawnees, and migrated to the south of the Platte,
about thirty miles from its mouth. — Eds. O. M.


JULIUS RODMAN. 41
ber that time ?" —or " Nep can swear to the truth
of that — can't yon, Nep ?" — when the animal would
roll up his eyes immediately, loll out his monstrous
tongue, and wag his great head up and down, as much
as to say — " Oh it's every bit as true as the Bible."
Although we all knew that this trick had been taught
the dog, yet for our lives we could not forbear shouting
with laughter, whenever Thornton would appeal to him.
August 16. Early this morning passed an island,
and a creek about fifteen yards wide, and, at a farther
distance of twelve miles, a large island in the middle
of the river. We had now, generally, high prairie,
and timbered hills on the north, with low ground on the
south, covered with cotton-wood. The river was exces-
sively crooked, but not so rapid as before we passed the
Platte. Altogether there is less timber than formerly;
what there is, is mostly elm, cotton-wood, hickory, and
walnut, with some oak. Had a strong wind nearly all
day, and by means of the eddy and this, we made
twenty-five miles before night. Our encampment was
on the south, upon a large plain, covered with high
grass, and bearing a great number of plum-trees and
currant-bushes. In our rear was a steep woody ridge,
ascending which we found another prairie extending
back for about a mile, and stopped again by a similar
woody ridge, followed by another vast prairie, going
off into the distance as far as the eye can reach. From
the cliffs just above us we had one of the most beauti-
ful prospects in the world.1
August 17. We remained at the encampment all
day, and occupied ourselves in various employments.
Getting Thornton, with his dog, to accompany me, I
strolled to some distance to the southward, and was
1 The Council Blufts. — Eds. G. M.


42 TALES.
enchanted with the voluptuous beauty of the country.
The prairies exceeded in beauty anything told in the
tales of the Arabian Nights. On the edges of the
creeks there was a wild mass of flowers which looked
more like Art than Nature, so profusely and fantastically
were their vivid colors blended together. Their rich
odor was almost oppressive. Every now and then we
came to a kind of green island of trees, placed amid
an ocean of purple, blue, orange, and crimson blossoms,
all waving to and fro in the wind. These islands con-
sisted of the most majestic forest oaks, and, beneath
them, the grass resembled a robe of the softest green
velvet, while up their huge stems there clambered, gen-
erally, a profusion of grape vines, laden with delicious
ripe fruit. The Missouri, in the distance, presented
the most majestic appearance; and many of the real
islands with which it was studded were entirely covered
with plum bushes, or other shrubbery, except where
crossed in various directions by narrow, mazy paths,
like the alleys in an English flower-garden ; and in these
alleys we could always see either elks or antelopes, who
had no doubt made them. We returned, at sunset,
to the encampment, delighted with our excursion.
The night was warm, and we were excessively annoyed
by mosquitoes.
August 18. To-day passed through a narrow part
of the river, not more than two hundred yards wide,
with a rapid channel, much obstructed with logs and
drift wood. Ran the large boat on a sawyer, and half
filled her with water before we could extricate her from
the difficulty. We were obliged to halt, in consequence,
and overhaul our things. Some of the biscuit was in-
jured, but none of the powder. Remained all day —
having only made five miles.


JULIUS RODMAN. 43
-August 19. We started early this morning and
made great headway. The weather was cool and
cloudy, and at noon we had a drenching shower.
Passed a creek on the south, the mouth of which is
nearly concealed by a large sand-island of singular ap-
pearance. Went about fifteen miles beyond this. The
highlands now recede from the river, and are probably
from ten to twenty miles apart. On the north is a
good deal of fine timber, but on the south very little.
Near the river are beautiful prairies, and along the
banks we procured four or five different species of
grape, all of good flavor and quite ripe; one is a large
purple grape of excellent quality. The hunters came
into camp, at night, from both sides of the river, and
brought us more game than we well knew what to do
with — grouse, turkies, two deer, an antelope, and a
quantity of yellow birds with black-striped wings —
these latter proved delicious eating. We made about
twenty miles during the day.
August 20. The river, this morning, was full of
sand-bars and other obstructions; but we proceeded
with spirit, and reached the mouth of a pretty large
creek, before night, at a distance of twenty miles from
our last encampment. The creek comes in from the
north, and has a large island opposite its mouth. Here
we made our camp, with the resolution of remaining
four or five days to trap beaver, as we saw great signs
of them in the neighborhood. This island was one of
the most fairy-looking situations in the world, and filled
my mind with the most delightful and novel emotions.
The whole scenery rather resembled what I had dreamed
of when a boy, than an actual reality. The banks sloped
down very gradually into the water, and were carpeted
with a short soft grass of a brilliant green hue, which


44 TALES.
was visible under the surface of the stream for some
distance from the shore; especially on the north side,
where the clear creek fell into the river. All round
the island, which was probably about twenty acres in
extent, was a complete fringe of cotton-wood; the
trunks loaded with grape vines in full fruit, and so
closely-interlocking with each other, that we could
scarcely get a glimpse of the river between the leaves.
Within this circle the grass was somewhat higher, and
of a coarser texture, with a pale yellow or white streak
down the middle of each blade, and giving out a remark-
ably delicious perfume, resembling that of the Vanilla
bean, but much stronger, so that the whole atmosphere
was loaded with it. The common English sweet grass
is no doubt of the same genus, but greatly inferior in
beauty, and fragrance. Interspersed among it in every
direction, were myriads of the most brilliant flowers,
in full bloom, and most of them of fine odor — blue,
pure white, bright yellow, purple, crimson, gaudy
scarlet, and some with streaked leaves like tulips.
Little knots of cherrytrees and plum bushes grew in
various directions about, and there were many narrow
winding paths which circled the island, and which had
been made by elks or antelopes. Nearly in the centre,
was a spring of sweet and clear water, which bubbled
up from among a cluster of steep rocks, covered from
head to foot with moss and flowering vines. The
whole bore a wonderful resemblance to an artificial
flower garden, but was infinitely more beautiful —
looking rather like some of those scenes of enchantment
which we read of in old books. We were all in ecstasy
with the spot, and prepared our camp in the highest
glee, amid its wilderness of sweets.
[The party remained here a week, during which


JULIUS RODMAN. 45
e, the neighboring country to the north was explored
in many directions, and some peltries obtained, espe-
cially upon the creek mentioned. The weather was
fine, and the enjoyment of the voyagers suffered no
alloy, in their terrestrial Paradise. Mr. Rodman,
however, omitted no necessary precautions, and sen-
tries were regularly posted every night, when all hands
assembled at camp and made merry. Such feasting
and drinking were never before known; the Canadians
proving themselves the very best fellows in the world
at a song, or over a flagon. They did nothing but eat,
and cook, and dance, and shout French carols at the
top of their voice. During the day they were chiefly
entrusted with the charge of the encampment, while
the steadier members of the party were absent upon
hunting or trapping expeditions. In one of these Mr.
Rodman enjoyed an excellent opportunity of observing
the habits of the beaver; and his account of this singu-
lar animal is highly interesting — the more so as it differs
materially, in some points, from the ordinary descrip-
tions.
He was attended, as usual, by Thornton and his
dog, and had traced up a small creek to its source in
the highlands about ten miles from the river. The
party came at length to a place where a large swamp
had been made by the beavers, in damming up the
creek. A thick grove of willows occupied one
extremity of the swamp, some of them overhanging
the water at a spot where several of the animals were
observed. Our adventurers crept stealthily round to
these willows, and making Neptune lie down at a little
distance, succeeded in climbing, unobserved, into a large
and thick tree, where they could look immediately
down upon all that was going on.


46 TALES.
The beavers were repairing a portion of their
dam, and every step of their progress was distinctly
seen. One by one the architects were perceived to
approach the edge of the swamp, each with a small
branch in his mouth. With this he proceeded to the
dam, and placed it carefully, and longitudinally, on the
part which had given way. Having done this, he
dived immediately, and in a few seconds reappeared
above the surface with a quantity of stiff mud, which
he first squeezed so as to drain it of its moisture in a
great degree, and then applied with his feet and tail
(using the latter as a trowel) to the branch which he
had just laid upon the breach. He then made off
among the trees, and was quickly succeeded by another
of the community, who went through precisely the
same operation.
In this way the damage sustained by the dam was
in a fair way of being soon repaired. Messieurs Rod-
man and Thornton observed the progress of the work
for more than two hours, and bear testimony to the
exquisite skill of the artizans. But as soon as a beaver
left the edge of the swamp in search of a branch, he
was lost sight of among the willows, much to the
chagrin of the observers, who were anxious to watch
his farther operations. By clambering a little higher
up in the tree, however, they discovered everything.
A small sycamore had been felled, apparently, and was
now nearly denuded of all its fine branches, a few
beavers still nibbling off some that remained, and pro-
ceeding with them to the dam. In the meantime a
great number of the animals surrounded a much older
and larger tree, which they were busily occupied in
cutting down. There were as many as fifty or sixty
of the creatures around the trunk, of which number


JULIUS RODMAN. 47
six or seven would work at once, leaving off one by
one, as each became weary; a fresh one stepping into
the vacated place. When our travellers first observed
the sycamore, it had been already cut through to a
great extent, but only on the side nearest the swamp,
upon the edge of which it grew. The incision was
nearly a foot wide, and as cleanly made as if done with
an axe; and the ground at the bottom of the tree was
covered with fine longitudinal slips, like straws, which
had been nibbled out, and not eaten ; as it appears that
these animals only use the bark for food. When at
work some sat upon the hind legs, in the posture so
common with squirrels, and gnawed at the wood;
their forefeet resting upon the edge of the cut, and
their heads thrust far into the aperture. Two of them,
however, were entirely within the incision; lying at
length, and working with great eagerness for a short
time, when they were relieved by their companions.
Although the position of our voyagers was anything
but comfortable, so great was their curiosity to witness
the felling of the sycamore, that they resolutely main-
tained their post until sunset, an interval of eight hours
from the time of ascending. Their chief embarrass-
ment was on Neptune's account, who could with diffi-
culty be kept from plunging in the swamp after the
plasterers who were repairing the dam. The noise he
made had several times disturbed the nibblers at the
tree, who would every now and then start, as if all
actuated by one mind, and listen attentively for many
minutes. As evening approached, however, the dog
gave over his freaks, and lay quiet; while the beavers
went on uninterruptedly with their labor.
Just as the sun began to set, a sudden commotion
was observed among the wood cutters, who all started


48 TALES.
from the tree, and flew round to the side which was
untouched. In an instant afterwards it was seen to
settle down gradually on the gnawed side, till the lips
of the incision met; but still it did not fall, being sus-
tained partially by the unsundered bark. This was
now attacked with zeal by as many nibblers as could
find room to work at it, and very quickly severed;
when the huge tree, to which the proper inclination
had already been so ingeniously given, fell with a
tremendous crash, and spread a great portion of its
topmost branches over the surface of the swamp. This
matter accomplished, the whole community seemed to
think a holiday was deserved, and, ceasing work at
once, began to chase each other about in the water,
diving, and slapping the surface with their tails.
The account here given of the method employed by
the beaver in its wood-cutting operations, is more cir-
cumstantial than any we have yet seen, and seems to
be conclusive in regard to the question of design on the
animal's part. The intention of making the tree fall
towards the water appears here to be obvious. Cap-
tain Bonneville, it will be remembered, discredits the
alleged sagacity of the animal in this respect, and thinks
it has no farther aim than to get the tree down, without
any subtle calculation in respect to its mode of descent.
This attribute, he thinks, has been ascribed to it from
the circumstance that trees in general, which grow near
the margin of water, either lean bodily towards the
stream, or stretch their most ponderous limbs in that
direction, in search of the light, space, and air, which
are there usually found. The beaver, he says, attacks,
of course, those trees which are nearest at hand, and
on the banks of the stream or pond, and these, when
cut through, naturally preponderate towards the water.


JULIUS RODMAN. 49
This suggestion is well-timed; but by no means con-
clusive against the design of the beaver; whose sagacity,
at best, is far beneath that which is positively ascertained
in respect to many classes of inferior animals — infinitely
below that of the lion-ant, of the bee, and of the cor-
ralliferi. The probability is that, were two trees offered
to the choice of the beaver, one of which preponderated
to the water, and the other did not, he would, in fell-
ing the first, omit, as unnecessary, the precautions just
described, but observe them in felling the second.
In a subsequent portion of the Journal other par-
ticulars are given respecting the habits of the singular
animal in question, and of the mode of trapping it
employed by the party, and we give them here for the
sake of continuity. The principal food of the beavers
is bark, and of this they put by regularly a large store
for winter provision, selecting the proper kind with
care and deliberation. A whole tribe, consisting some-
times of two or three hundred, will set out together
upon a foraging expedition, and pass through groves of
trees all apparently similar, until a particular one suits
their fancy. This they cut down, and, breaking off its
most tender branches, divide them into short slips of
equal length and divest these slips of their bark, which
they carry to the nearest stream leading to their village,
thence floating it home. Occasionally the slips are stored
away for the winter without being stripped of the bark;
and, in this event, they are careful to remove the refuse
wood from their dwellings, as soon as they have eaten
the rind, taking the sticks to some distance. During the
spring of the year the males are never found with the
tribe at home, but always by themselves, either singly
or in parties of two or three, when they appear to lose
their usual habits of sagacity, and fall an easy prey to
vol. rv—4


SO TALES.
the arts of the trapper. In summer they return home,
and busy themselves, with the females, in making pro-
vision for winter. They are described as exceedingly
ferocious animals when irritated.
Now and then they may be caught upon shore;
especially the males in spring, who are then fond of
roving to some distance from the water in search of
food. When thus caught, they are easily killed with a
blow from a stick; but the most certain and efficacious
mode of taking them is by means of the trap. This is
simply constructed to catch the foot of the animal. The
trapper places it usually in some position near the shore,
and just below the surface of the water, fastening it by
a small chain to a pole stuck in the mud. In the
mouth of the machine is placed one end of a small
branch; the other end rising above the surface, and
well soaked in the liquid bait whose odor is found to be
attractive to the beaver. As soon as the animal scents
it, he rubs his nose against the twig, and, in so doing,
steps upon the trap, springs it, and is caught. The
trap is made very light, for the convenience of portage,
and the prey would easily swim off with it but for its
being fastened to the pole by a chain — no other species
of fastening could resist his teeth. The experienced
trapper readily detects the presence of beaver in any
pond or stream; discovering them by a thousand ap-
pearances which would afford no indication to the
unpractised observer.
Many of the identical wood-cutters whom the two
voyagers had watched so narrowly from the tree-top,
fell afterwards a victim to trap, and their fine furs
became a prey to the spoilers, who made sad havoc in
the lodge at the swamp. Other waters in the neigh-
borhood also afforded the travellers much sport; and


JULIUS RODMAN. 51
they long remembered the island at the creek's mouth,
by the name of Beaver Island, in consequence. They
left this little Paradise in high spirits on the twenty-
seventh of the month, and, pursuing their hitherto
somewhat uneventful voyage up the river, arrived, by
the first of September, without any incident of note, at
the mouth of a large river on the south, to which they
gave the name of Currant River, from some berries
abounding upon its margin, but which was, beyond
doubt, the Quicourre. The principal objects of which
the Journal takes notice in this interval, are the numer-
ous herds of buffalo which darkened the prairies in
every direction, and the remains of a fortification on
the south shore of the river, nearly opposite the upper
extremity of what has been since called Bonhomme
Island. Of these remains a minute description is given,
which tallies in every important particular with that of
Captains Lewis and Clarke. The travellers had passed
the Little Sioux, Floyd's, the Great Sioux, White-Stone,
and Jacques rivers on the north, with Wawandysenche
creek, and White-Paint river on the south, but at
neither of these streams did they stop to trap for any long
period. They had also passed the great village of the
Omahas, of which the Journal takes no notice whatever.
This village, at the time, consisted of full three hun-
dred houses, and was inhabited by a numerous and
powerful tribe; but it is not immediately upon the
banks of the Missouri, and the boats probably went by
it during the night — for the party had begun to adopt
this mode of progress, through fear of the Sioux. We
resume the narrative of Mr. Rodman, with the second
of September.]
September 2. We had now reached a part of the
river where, according to all report, a great deal of


52 TALES.
danger was to be apprehended from the Indians, and
we became extremely cautious in our movements. This
was the region inhabited by the Sioux, a warlike and
ferocious tribe, who had, upon several occasions, evinced
hostility to the whites, and were known to be con-
stantly at war with all the neighboring tribes. The
Canadians had many incidents to relate respecting their
savage propensities, and I had much apprehension lest
these cowardly creatures should take an opportunity of
deserting, and retracing their way to the Mississippi.
To lessen the chances of this, I removed one of them
from the piroque, and supplied his place by Poindexter
Greely. All the Greelys came in from the shore, turn-
ing loose the horses. Our arrangement was now as
follows: — In the piroque, Poindexter Greely, Pierre
Junot, Toby, and one Canadian — in the large boat,
myself; Thornton; Worm ley; John, Frank, Robert,
and Meredith Greely; and three Canadians, with the
dog. We set sail about dusk, and, having a brisk wind
from the south, made good head-way, although, as night
came on, we were greatly embarrassed by the shoals.
We continued our course without interruption, how-
ever, until a short time before daybreak, when we ran
into the mouth of a creek, and concealed the boats
among the underwood.
September 3 and 4. During both of these days it
rained and blew with excessive violence, so that we
did not leave our retreat at all. The weather depressed
our spirits very much, and the narratives of the Cana-
dians about the terrible Sioux did not serve to raise
them. We all congregated in the cabin of the large
boat, and held a council in regard to our future move-
ments. The Greelys were for a bold push through
the dangerous country, maintaining that the stories of


JULIUS RODMAN. 53
the voyageurs were mere exaggerations, and that the
Sioux would only be a little troublesome, without pro-
ceeding to hostility. Wormley and Thornton, however,
as well as Pierre (all of whom had much experience in
the Indian character) thought that our present policy
was the best, although it would necessarily detain us
much longer on our voyage than would otherwise be
the case. My own opinion coincided with theirs — in
our present course we might escape any collision with
the Sioux — and I did not regard the delay as a matter
of consequence.
September 5. We set off at night, and proceeded
for about ten miles, when the day began to appear, and
we hid the boats as before, in a narrow creek, which
was well adapted to the purpose, as its mouth was
almost blocked up by a thickly-wooded island. It
again came on to rain furiously, and we were all drenched
to the skin before we could arrange matters for turning
in, in the cabin. Our spirits were much depressed by
the bad weather, and the Canadians especially were in
a miserable state of dejection. We had now come to
a narrow part of the river where the current was strong,
and the cliffs on both sides overhung the water, and
were thickly wooded with lynn, oak, black-walnut,
ash, and chestnut. Through such a gorge we knew it
would be exceedingly difficult to pass without observa-
tion, even at night, and our apprehensions of attack
were greatly increased. We resolved not to re-com-
mence our journey until late, and then to proceed with
the most stealthy caution. In the meantime we posted
a sentry on shore, and one in the piroque, while the
rest of us busied ourselves in overhauling the arms and
ammunition, and preparing for the worst.
About ten o'clock we were getting ready to start,


54 TALES.
when the dog gave a low growl, which made us all fly
to our rifles; but the cause of the disturbance proved
to be a single Indian of the Ponca tribe, who came up
frankly to our sentry on shore, and extended his hand.
We brought him on board, and gave him whiskey,
when he became very communicative, and told us that
his tribe, who lived some miles lower down the river,
had been watching our movements for several days past,
but that the Poncas were friends and would not molest
the whites, and would trade with us upon our return.
They had sent him now to caution the whites against
the Sioux, who were great robbers, and who were
lying in wait for the party at a bend of the river, twenty
miles farther up. There were three bands of them, he
said, and it was their intention to kill us all, in revenge
for an insult sustained by one of their chiefs, many
years previously, at the hands of a French trapper.


CHAPTER IV.1
[We left our travellers, on the fifth of September,
apprehending a present attack from the Sioux. Exag-
gerated accounts of the ferocity of this tribe had in-
spired the party with an earnest wish to avoid them;
bat the tale told by the friendly Ponca made it evident
that a collision must take place. The night voyages
were therefore abandoned as impolitic, and it was re-
solved to put a bold face upon the matter, and try what
could be effected by blustering. The remainder of
the night of the fifth was spent in warlike demonstra-
tion. The large boat was cleared for action as well as
possible, and the fiercest aspect assumed which the
nature of the case would permit. Among other prepa-
rations for defence, the cannon was got out from below,
and placed forward upon the cuddy deck, with a load
of bullets, by way of canister-shot. Just before sun-
rise the adventurers started up the river in high bravado,
aided by a heavy wind. That the enemy might per-
ceive no semblance of fear or mistrust, the whole party
joined the Canadians in an uproarious boat-song at the
top of their voices, making the woods reverberate, and
the buffaloes stare.
The Sioux, indeed, appear to have been Mr. Rod-
man's bugbears par excellence, and he dwells upon them
and their exploits with peculiar emphasis. The narra-
tive embodies a detailed account of the tribe — an ac-
1 The record is continued in the Gtntleman'i Mag., April,
1S40. — Ed.
55


TALES.
which we can onlv follow in such portions as
appear to possess noveltv, or other important interest.
Simut is the French term for the Indians in question —
che English have corrupted it into Sues. Their primi-
tive name is said to be Darcstas. Their original seats
were en the Mississippi, but they had gradually ex-
tended their dominions, and, at the date of the Journal,
occupied ilmost the whole of that vast territory circum-
scribep by che Mississippi, the Saskatchawine, the Mis-
sour, and the Red River of Lake Winnipeg. They were
subdividep into numerous clans. The Darcotas proper
were the Wtaowacants, called the Gens du Lac by the
French — eonsiscing of about five hundred warriors,
4np living: on both sides of the Mississippi, in the
vicimcv of the Falls of St. Anthony. Neighbors of
the Winowacants, and residing north of them on the
river St. Peter's, were the Wappatomies, about two
hunprep men. Still farther up the St. Peter's lived a
bend of one hundred, called the Wappytooties, among
ttomseWes, and by the French the Gens des Feuilles.
Higher up the river yet, and near its source, resided
to* Sissvtoonies, in number two hundred or thereabouts.
On the Missouri dwelt the Yanktons and the Tetons.
Of the first tribe there were two branches, the north-
ern and southern, of which the former led an Arab life
in the plains at the sources of the Red, Sioux, and
lacqucs rivers, being in number about five hundred. The
southern branch kept possession of the tract lying be-
tween the river Des Moines on the one hand, and the
rivers Jacques and Sioux on the other. But the Sioux
most renowned for deeds of violence are the Te-
ton* i and of these there were four tribes — the Saonies,
the Mtnnakenoxzies, the Okydandies, and the Bois-
Vr&lfc. These last, a body of whom were now lying
^


JULIUS RODMAN. 57
in wait to intercept the voyagers, were the most savage
and formidable of the whole race, numbering about
two hundred men, and residing on both sides of the
Missouri near the rivers called by Captains Lewis and
Clarke, The White and Teton. Just below the Chay-
enne river were the Okydandies, one hundred and fifty.
The Minnakenozzies — two hundred and fifty — oc-
cupied a tract between the Chayenne and the Watarhoo;
and the Saonies, the largest of the Teton bands, counting
as many as three hundred warriors, were found in the
vicinity of the Warreconne.
Besides these four divisions — the regular Sioux —
there were five tribes of seceders called Assiniboins;
the Menatopse Assiniboins, two hundred, on Mouse
river, between the Assiniboin and the Missouri; the
Gens de Feuilles Assiniboins, two hundred and fifty,
occupying both sides of White river; the Big Devils,
four hundred and fifty, wandering about the heads of
Porcupine and Milk rivers; with two other bands
whose names are not mentioned, but who roved on the
Saskatchawine and numbered together, about seven hun-
dred men. These seceders were often at war with the
parent or original Sioux.
In person, the Sioux generally are an ugly ill-made
race, their limbs being much too small for the trunk,
according to our ideas of the human form — their cheek
bones are high, and their eyes protruding and dull.
The heads of the men are shaved, with the exception
of a small spot on the crown, whence a long tuft is
permitted to fall in plaits upon the shoulders; this tuft
is an object of scrupulous care, but is now and then
cut off', upon an occasion of grief or solemnity. A
full dressed Sioux chief presents a striking appearance.
The whole surface of the body is painted with grease


53
and coal. A shirt of skint is worn as fin- down u the
waist, while rounp the mipple is a girdle of the same
material, anp sometimes oi' cloth, about an inch in
width; this supports a piece or' blanket or fur passing
between the thighs. Over the shr-dders is a white-
dressed buffalo mantle, the hair of which is worn next
the skin in fair weather, bat turned outwards in wet.
This robe is large enough to envelop the whole body,
and is frequendy ornamented with porcupine quills
(which make a rattling noise as the warrior moves) as
well as with a great variety of rudely painted figures,
emblematical of the wearer's military character. Fast-
ened to the top of the head is worn a hawk's feather,
adorned with porcupine quills. Leggings of dressed
antelope skin serve the purpose of pantaloons, and have
seams at the sides, about two inches wide, and bespotted
here and there with small tufts of human hair, the tro-
phies of some scalping excursion. The moccasins are
of elk or buffalo skin, the hair worn inwards; on great
occasions the chief is seen with the skin of a polecat
dangling at the heel of each boot. The Sioux are in-
deed partial to this noisome animal; whose fur is in
high favor for tobacco-pouches and other appendages.
The dress of a chieftain's squaw is also remarkable.
Her hair is suffered to grow long, is parted across the
forehead, and hangs loosely behind, or is collected into
a kind of net. Her moccasins do not differ from her
husband's; but her leggings extend upwards only as
far as the knee, where they are met by an awkward
shirt of elk-skin depending to the ancles, and supported
above by a string going over the shoulders. This shirt
is usually confined to the waist by a girdle, and over
all is thrown a buffalo mantle like that of the men.
The tents of the Teton Sioux are described as of neat


JULIUS RODMAN. 59
construction, being formed of white-dressed buffalo
hide, well secured and supported by poles.
The region infested by the tribe in question extends
along the banks of the Missouri for some hundred and
fifty miles or more, and is chiefly prairie land, but is
occasionally diversified by hills. These latter are always
deeply cut by gorges or ravines, which in the middle
of summer are dry, but form the channels of muddy
and impetuous torrents during the season of rain.
Their edges are fringed with thick woods, as well at
top as at bottom; but the prevalent aspect of the
country is that of a bleak low land, with rank herbage,
and without trees. The soil is strongly impregnated
with mineral substances in great variety — among others
with glauber salts, copperas, sulphur, and alum, which
tinge the water of the river and impart to it a nauseous
odor and taste. The wild animals most usual are the
buffalo, deer, elk, and antelope. We again resume
the words of the Journal.]
September 6. The country was open, and the day
remarkably pleasant: so that we were all in pretty good
spirits notwithstanding the expectation of attack. So
far, we had not caught even a glimpse of an Indian,
and we were making rapid way through their dreaded
territory. I was too well aware, however, of the
savage tactics to suppose that we were not narrowly
watched, and had made up my mind that we should
hear something of the Tetons at the first gorge which
would afford them a convenient lurking-place.
About noon a Canadian bawled out " The Sioux ! —
the Sioux! "—and directed attention to a long narrow
ravine, which intersected the prairie on our left, ex-
tending from the banks of the Missouri as far as the
eye could reach, in a southwardly course. This gully


60 TALES.
was the bed of a creek, but its waters were now low,
and the sides rose up like huge regular walls on each
side. By the aid of a spy-glass I perceived at once
the cause of the alarm given by the voyageur. A
large party of mounted savages were coming down the
gorge in Indian file, with the evident intention of taking
us unawares. Their calumet feathers had been the
means of their detection; for every now and then we
could see some of these bobbing up above the edge of
the gulley, as the bed of the ravine forced the wearer
to rise higher than usual. We could tell that they
were on horseback by the motion of these feathers.
The party was coming upon us with great rapidity;
and I gave the word to pull on with all haste so as
to pass the mouth of the creek before they reached it.
As soon as the Indians perceived by our increased
speed that they were discovered, they immediately
raised a yell, scrambled out of the gorge, and galloped
down upon us, to the number of about one hundred.
Our situation was now somewhat alarming. At
almost any other part of the Missouri which we had
passed during the day, I should not have cared so
much for these freebooters; but just here the banks
were remarkably steep and high, partaking of the
character of the creek banks, and the savages were
enabled to overlook us completelv, while the cannon,
upon which we had placed so much reliance, could
not be brought to bear upon them at all. What
added to our difficulty was that the current in the
middle of the river was so turbulent and strong that
we could make no headway against it except by
dropping arms, and employing our whole force at the
oars. The water near the northern shore was too
shallow even for the piroque, and our only mode of


JULIUS RODMAN. 6l
proceeding, if we designed to proceed at all, was by
pushing it within a moderate stone's throw of the left
or southern bank, where we were completely at the
mercy of the Sioux, but where we could make good
headway by means of our poles and the wind, aided by
the eddy. Had the savages attacked us at this juncture
I cannot see how we could have escaped them. They
were all well provided with bows and arrows, and small
round shields, presenting a very noble and picturesque
appearance. Some of the chiefs had spears, with fanci-
ful flags attached, and were really gallant-looking men.
Either good luck upon our own parts, or great stupidity
on the part of the Indians, relieved us very unexpect-
edly from the dilemma. The savages, having galloped
up to the edge of the cliff just above us, set up another
yell, and commenced a variety of gesticulations, whose
meaning we at once knew to be that we should stop
and come on shore. I had expected this demand, and
had made up my mind that it would be most prudent
to pay no attention to it at all, but proceed on our
course. My refusal to stop had at least one good
effect, for it appeared to mystify the Indians most
wonderfully, who could not be brought to understand
the measure in the least, and stared at us, as we kept on
our way without answering them, in the most ludicrous
amazement. Presently they commenced an agitated
conversation among themselves, and at last finding that
nothing could be made of us, fairly turned their horses'
heads to the southward and galloped out of sight, leav-
ing us as much surprised as rejoiced at their departure.
In the meantime we made the most of the opportunity,
arid pushed on with might and main, in order to get out
of the region of steep banks before the anticipated return
of our foes. In about two hours we again saw them in


62 TALES.
the south, at a great distance, and their number much
augmented. They came on at full gallop, and were
soon at the river; but our position was now much
more advantageous, for the banks were sloping, and
there were no trees to shelter the savages from our
shot. The current, moreover, was not so rapid as
before, and we were enabled to keep in mid-channel.
The party, it seems, had only retreated to procure an
interpreter, who now appeared upon a large gray horse,
and, coming into the river as far as he could without
swimming, called out to us in bad French to stop, and
come on shore. To this I made one of the Canadians
replv that, to oblige our friends the Sioux, we would
willingly stop, for a short time, and converse, but that
it was inconvenient for us to come on shore, as we
could not do so without incommoding our great medi-
cine (here the Canadian pointed to the cannon) who
was anxious to proceed on his voyage, and whom we
were afraid to disobey.
At this they began again their agitated whisperings
and gesticulations among themselves, and seemed quite
at a loss what to do. In the meantime the boats had
been brought to anchor in a favorable position, and I
was resolved to fight now, if necessary, and endeavor
to give the freebooters so warm a reception as would
inspire them with wholesome dread for the future. I
reflected that it was nearly impossible to keep on good
terms with these Sioux, who were our enemies at heart,
and who could only be restrained from pillaging and
murdering us by a conviction of our prowess. Should
we comply with their present demands, go on shore,
and even succeed in purchasing a temporary safety by
concessions and donations, such conduct would not
avail us in the end, and would be rather a palliation


JULIUS RODMAN. 63
than a radical cure of the evil. They would be sure
to glut their vengeance sooner or later, and, if they
suffered us to go on our way now, might hereafter
attack us at a disadvantage, when it might be as much
as we could do to repel them, to say nothing of inspir-
ing them with awe. Situated as we were here, it was
in our power to give them a lesson they would be apt
to remember; and we might never be in so good a
situation again. Thinking thus, and all except the
Canadians agreeing with me in opinion, I determined
to assume a bold stand, and rather provoke hostilities
than avoid them. This was our true policy. The
savages had no fire arms which we could discover, ex-
cept an old carabine carried by one of the chiefs; and
their arrows would not prove very effective weapons
when employed at so great a distance as that now be-
tween us. In regard to their number, we did not care
much for that. Their position was one which would
expose them to the full sweep of our cannon.
When Jules (the Canadian) had finished his speech
about incommoding our great medicine, and when the
consequent agitation had somewhat subsided among the
savages, the interpreter spoke again and propounded
three queries. He wished to know, first, whether we
had any tobacco, or whiskey, or fire-guns — secondly,
whether we did not wish the aid of the Sioux in row-
ing our large boat up the Missouri as far as the country
of the Ricarees, who were great rascals — and, thirdly,
whether our great medicine was not a very large and
strong green grass-hopper.
To these questions, propounded with profound grav-
ity, Jules replied, by my directions, as follows. First,
that we had plenty of whiskey, as well as tobacco, with
an inexhaustible supply of fire-guns and powder — but


64 TALES.
that our great medicine had just told us that the Tetons
were greater rascals than the Ricarees — that they were
our enemies — that they had been lying in wait to in-
tercept and kill us for many days past — that we must
give them nothing at all, and hold no intercourse with
them whatever; we should therefore be afraid to give
them anything, even if so disposed, for fear of the anger
of the great medicine, who was not to be trifled with.
Secondly, that, after the character just given the Sioux
Tetons, we could not think of employing them to row
our boat — and, thirdly, that it was a good thing for
them (the Sioux) that our great medicine had not over-
heard their last query, respecting the "large green
grasshopper"; for, in that case, it might have gone
very hard with them (the Sioux). Our great medi-
cine was anything but a large green grass-hopper, and
that they should soon see, to their cost, if they did
not immediately go, the whole of them, about their
business.
Notwithstanding the imminent danger in which we
were all placed, we could scarcely keep our counte-
nances in beholding the air of profound admiration and
astonishment with which the savages listened to these
replies ; and I believe that they would have immediately
dispersed, and left us to proceed on our voyage, had it
not been for the unfortunate words in which I informed
them that they were greater rascals than the Ricarees.
This was, apparently, an insult of the last atrocity, and
excited them to an incontrollable degree of fury. We
heard the words " Ricaree! Ricaree !" repeated, every
now and then, with the utmost emphasis and excite-
ment; and the whole band, as well as we could judge,
seemed to be divided into two factions; the one urging
the immense power of the great medicine, and the other
S


JULIUS RODMAN. 65
the outrageous insult of being called greater rascals
than the Ricarees. While matters stood thus, we retained
our position in the middle of the stream, firmly resolved
to give the villains a dose of our cannister-shot, upon
the first indignity which should be offered us.
Presently, the interpreter on the gray horse came
again into the river, and said that he believed we were
no better than we should be — that all the pale faces
who had previously gone up the river had been friends
of the Sioux, and had made them large presents — that
they, the Tetons, were determined not to let us pro-
ceed another step unless we came on shore and gave up
all our fire-guns and whiskey, with half of our tobacco
— that it was plain we were allies of the Ricarees,
(who were now at war with the Sioux,) and that our
design was to carry them supplies, which we should
not do — lastly, that they did not think very much of
our great medicine, for he had told us a lie in relation
to the designs of the Tetons, and was positively noth-
ing but a great green grasshopper, in spite of all that
we thought to the contrary. These latter words, about
the great green grasshopper, were taken up by the
whole assemblage as the interpreter uttered them, and
shouted out at the top of the voice, that the great medi-
cine himself might be sure to hear the taunt. At the
same time, they all broke into wild disorder, galloping
their horses furiously in short circles, using contemptu-
ous and indecent gesticulations, brandishing their spears,
and drawing their arrows to the head.
I knew that the next thing would be an attack, and
so determined to anticipate it at once, before any of
our party were wounded by the discharge of their
weapons — there was nothing to be gained by delay,
and everything by prompt and resolute action. As
vol. iv—5


66 TALES.
soon as a good opportunity presented itself, the word
was given to fire, and instantly obeyed. The effect
of the discharge was very severe, and answered all our
purposes to the full. Six of the Indians were killed,
and perhaps three times as many badly wounded. The
rest were thrown into the greatest terror and confusion,
and made off into the prairie at full speed, as we drew
up our anchors, after reloading the gun, and pulled
boldly in for the shore. By the time we had reached
it, there was not an unwounded Teton within sight.
I now left John Greely, with three Canadians, in
charge of the boats, landed with the rest of the men,
and, approaching a savage who was severely but not
dangerously wounded, held a conversation with him,
by means of Jules. I told him that the whites were
well disposed to the Sioux, and to all the Indian nations;
that our sole object in visiting his country was to trap
beaver, and see the beautiful region which had been
given the red men by the Great Spirit; that when we
had procured as many furs as we wished, and seen all
we came to sec, we should return home; that we had
heard that the Sioux, and especially the Tetons, were
a quarrelsome race, and that therefore we had brought
with us our great medicine for protection; that he was
now much exasperated with the Tetons on account of
their intolerable insult in calling him a green grass-
hopper (which he was not); that I had had great dif-
ficulty in restraining him from a pursuit of the warriors
who had fled, and from sacrificing the wounded who
now lay around us; and that I had only succeeded in
pacifying him by becoming personally responsible for
the future good behavior of the savages. At this
portion of my discourse the poor fellow appeared much
relieved, and extended his hand in token of amity. I


JULIUS RODMAN. 67
took it, and assured him and his friends of my protec-
tion as long as we were unmolested, following up this
promise by a present of twenty carrots of tobacco, some
small hardware, beads, and red flannel, for himself and
the rest of the wounded.
While all this was going on, we kept a sharp look-
out for the fugitive Sioux. As I concluded making the
presents, several gangs of these were observable in the
distance, and were evidently seen by the disabled sav-
age; but I thought it best to pretend not to perceive
them, and shortly afterwards returned to the boats.
The whole interruption had detained us full three hours,
and it was after three o'clock when we once more
started on our route. We made extraordinary haste,
as I was anxious to get as far as possible from the scene
of action before night. We had a strong wind at our
back, and the current diminished in strength as we pro-
ceeded, owing to the widening of the stream. We
therefore made great way, and by nine o'clock, had
reached a large and thickly wooded island, near the
northern bank, and close by the mouth of a creek.
Here we resolved to encamp, and had scarcely set foot
on shore, when one of the Greelys shot and secured a
fine buffalo, many of which were upon the place.
After posting our sentries for the night, we had the
hump for supper, with as much whiskey as was good
for us. Our exploit of the day was then freely dis-
cussed, and by most of the men was treated as an ex-
cellent joke; but I could by no means enter into any
merriment upon the subject. Human blood had never,
before this epoch, been shed at my hands; and although
reason urged that I had taken the wisest, and what
would no doubt prove in the end the most merciful
course, still conscience, refusing to hearken even to rea-


68 TALES.
son herself, whispered pertinaciously within my ear —
"it is human blood which thou hast shed." The hours
wore away slowly — I found it impossible to sleep.
At length the morning dawned, and with its fresh dews,
its fresher breezes, and smiling flowers, there came a
new courage, and a bolder tone of thought, which en-
abled me to look more steadily upon what had been
done, and to regard in its only proper point of view the
urgent necessity of the deed.
September 7. Started early, and made great way,
with a strong cold wind from the east. Arrived about
noon at the upper gorge of what is called the Great
Bend, a place where the river performs a circuit of full
thirty miles, while by land the direct distance is not
more than fifteen hundred yards. Six miles beyond
this is a creek about thirty-five yards wide, coming in
from the south. The country here is of peculiar char-
acter; on each side of the river the shore is strewed
thickly with round stones washed from the bluifs, and
presenting a remarkable appearance for miles. The
channel is very shallow, and much interrupted with
sand-bars. Cedar is here met with more frequently
than any other species of timber, and the prairies are
covered with a stiff kind of prickly pear, over which
our men found it no easy matter to walk in their moc-
casins.
About sunset, in endeavoring to avoid a rapid chan-
nel, we had the misfortune to run the larboard side of
the large boat on the edge of a sand-bar, which so
heeled us over that we were very near getting filled
with water, in spite of the greatest exertion. As it
was, much damage was done to the loose powder, and
the Indian goods were all more or less injured. As
soon as we found the boat careening, we all jumped


JULIUS RODMAN. 69
into the water, which was here up to our arm-pits, and
bv main force held the sinking side up. But we were
still in a dilemma, for all our exertions were barely suf-
ficient to keep from capsizing, and we could not spare
a man to do anything towards pushing off. We were
relieved, very unexpectedly, by the sinking of the whole
sand-bar from under the boat, just as we were upon the
point of despair. The bed of the river in this neigh-
borhood is much obstructed by these shifting sands,
which frequently change situations with great rapidity,
and without apparent cause. The material of the
bars is a fine hard yellow sand, which, when dry, is
of a brilliant glass-like appearance, and almost impal-
pable.
September 8. We were still in the heart of the
Teton country, and kept a sharp look-out, stopping as
seldom as possible, and then only upon the islands,
which abounded with game in great variety — buffaloes,
elk, deer, goats, black-tailed deer, and antelopes, with
plover and brant of many kinds. The goats are un-
commonly tame, and have no beard. Fish is not so
abundant here as lower down the river. A white wolf
was killed by John Greely in a ravine upon one of the
smaller islands. Owing to the difficult navigation, and
the frequent necessity of employing the tow-line, we
did not make great progress this day.
September 9. Weather growing sensibly colder,
which made us all anxious of pushing our way through
the Sioux country, as it would be highly dangerous to
form our winter encampment in their vicinity. We
aroused ourselves to exertion, and proceeded rapidly,
the Canadians singing and shouting as we went. Now
and then we saw, in the extreme distance, a solitary
Teton, but no attempt was made to molest us, and we


yo TALES.
began to gather courage from this circumstance. Made
twenty-eight miles during the day, and encamped at
night, in high glee, on a large island well stocked with
game, and thickly covered with cotton-wood.
[We omit the adventures of Mr. Rodman from this
period until the tenth of April. By the last of Octo-
ber, nothing of importance happening in the interval,
the party made their way to a small creek which they
designated as Otter creek, and, proceeding up this about
a mile to an island well adapted for their purpose, built
a log fort and took up their quarters for the winter. The
location is just above the old Ricara villages. Several
parties of these Indians visited the voyagers, and be-
haved with perfect friendliness — they had heard of the
skirmish with the Tetons, the result of which hugely
pleased them. No farther trouble was experienced
from any of the Sioux. The winter wore away pleas-
antly, and without accident of note. On the tenth of
April the party resumed their voyage.]


CHAPTER V.1
April 10, 1792. The weather was now again most
delicious and revived our spirits exceedingly. The sun
began to have power, and the river was quite free of
ice, so the Indians assured us, for a hundred miles
ahead. We bade adieu to Little Snake [a chief of the
Ricarees who had shown the voyagers many evidences
of friendship during the winter] and his band, with
unfeigned regret, and set out, after breakfast, on our
voyage. Perrine [an agent of the Hudson Bay fur
company on his way to Petite Cote] accompanied us
with three Indians for the first ten miles, when he took
leave of us and made his way back to the village, where
(as we afterwards heard) he met with a violent death
from the hands of a squaw, to whom he offered some
insult. Upon parting with the agent, we pushed on
vigorously up the river, and made great way, notwith-
standing a rapid current. In the afternoon, Thornton,
who had been complaining for some days past, was
taken seriously ill; so much so that I urged the return
of the whole party to the hut, there to wait until he
should get better; but he resisted this offer so strongly
that I was forced to yield. We made him a comfort-
able bed in the cabin, and paid him every attention;
but he had a raging fever, with occasional delirium, and
I was much afraid that we should lose him. In the
meantime we still pushed ahead with resolution, and by
night had made twenty miles—an excellent day's work.
1 The record is resumed in the Gentleman'1 Mag., May, 1840.
— Ed.
71


72 TALES.
April 11. Still beautiful weather. We started
early, and had a good wind, which aided us greatly;
so that, but for Thornton's illness, we should all have
been in fine spirits. He seemed to grow much worse,
and I scarcely knew how to act. Everything was
done for his comfort which could be done; Jules, the
Canadian, made him some tea, from prairie herbs, which
had the effect of inducing perspiration, and allayed the
fever very sensibly. We stopped at night on the main-
land to the north, and three hunters went out into the
prairie by moonlight, returning at one in the morning,
without their rifles, and with a fat antelope.
They related that, having proceeded many miles
across the country, they reached the banks of a beauti-
ful rivulet, where they were much surprised and alarmed
at discovering a large war-party of the Saonie Sioux,
who immediately took them prisoners, and carried them
a mile on the other side of the stream to a kind of park,
or enclosure, walled with mud and sticks, in which was
a large herd of antelopes. These animals were still
coming into the park, the gates of which were so con-
trived as to prevent escape. This was an annual prac-
tice of the Indians. In the autumn, the antelopes
retire for food and shelter from the prairie to the moun-
tainous regions on the south of the river. In the spring
they re-cross it in great numbers, and are then easily
taken by being enticed into a strong enclosure as above
described.
The hunters, (John Greely, the Prophet, and a
Canadian) had scarcely any hope of escape from the
clutches of the Indians, (who numbered as many as
fifty,) and had well nigh made up their minds to die.
Greely and the Prophet were disarmed and tied hand
and foot; the Canadian, however, was suffered, for


JULIUS RODMAN. 73
some reason not perfectly understood, to remain un-
bound, and was only deprived of his rifle, the savages
leaving him in possession of his hunter's knife, (which,
possibly, they did not perceive, as it was worn in a
sort of sheath in the side of his legging) and treating
him otherwise with a marked difference from their de-
meanor to the others. This circumstance proved the
source of the party's deliverance.
It was, perhaps, nine o'clock at night when they
were first taken. The moon was bright, but, as the
air was unusually cool for the season, the savages had
kindled two large fires at a sufficient distance from the
park not to frighten the antelopes, who were still pour-
ing into it continually. At these fires they were
occupied in cooking their game when the hunters so
unexpectedly came upon them from round a clump of
trees. Greely and the Prophet, after being disarmed
and bound with strong thongs of buffalo hide, were
thrown down under a tree at some distance from the
blaze; while the Canadian was permitted to seat him-
self, in charge of two savages, by one of the fires, the
rest of the Indians forming a circle round the other
and larger one. In this arrangement, the time wore
away slowly, and the hunters were in momentary
expectation of death; the cords of the two who were
bound caused them, also, infinite pain, from the tight-
ness with which they were fastened. The Canadian
had endeavored to hold a conversation with his guards,
in the hope of bribing them to release him, but could
not make himself understood. About midnight, the
congregation around the large fire were suddenly dis-
turbed by the dash of several large antelopes in succes-
sion through the midst of the blaze. These animals
had burst through a portion of the mud wall which con-


74 TALES.
fined them, and, mad with rage and affright, had made
for the light of the fire, as is the habit of insects at night
in like circumstances. It seems, however, that the
Saonies had never heard of any similar feat, of these
usually timid creatures, for they were in great terror at
the unexpected interruption, and their alarm increased
to perfect dismay, as the whole captured herd came
rushing and bounding upon them, after the lapse of a
minute or so from the outbreak of the first few. The
hunters described the scene as one of the most singular
nature. The beasts were apparently frantic, and the
velocity and impetuosity with which they flew, rather
than leaped, through the flames, and through the midst
of the terrified savages, was said by Greely (a man
not in the least prone to exaggerate) to have been not
only an imposing but even a terrible spectacle. They
carried everything before them in their first plunges;
but, having cleared the large fire, they immediately
dashed at the small one, scattering the brands and blaz-
ing wood about; then returned, as if bewildered, to
the large one, and so backwards and forwards until the
decline of the fires, when, in small parties, they scam-
pered off like lightning to the woods.
Many of the Indians were knocked down in this
furious melee, and there is no doubt that some of them
were seriously, if not mortally, wounded by the sharp
hoofs of the agile antelopes. Some threw themselves
flat on the ground, and so avoided injury. The Prophet
and Greely, not being near the fires, were in no danger.
The Canadian was prostrated at the first onset by a
kick which rendered him senseless for some minutes.
When he came to himself he was nearly in darkness;
for the moon had gone behind a heavy thunder-cloud,
and the fires were almost out, or onlv existed in brands


JULIUS RODMAN. 75
scattered hither and thither. He saw no Indians near
him, and instantly arousing himself to escape, made,
as well as he could, for the tree where his two com-
rades were lying. Their thongs were soon cut, and
the three set off at fill] speed in the direction of the
river, without stopping to think of their rifles, or of
anything beyond present security. Having run for
some miles, and finding no one in pursuit, they slack-
ened their pace, and made their way to a spring for
a draught of water. Here it was they met with the
antelope which, as I mentioned before, they brought
with them to the boats. The poor creature lay pant-
ing, and unable to move, by the border of the spring.
One of its legs was broken, and it bore evident traces
of fire. It was no doubt one of the herd which had
been the means of deliverance. Had there been even
a chance of its recovery the hunters would have spared
it in token of their gratitude, but it was miserably
injured, so they put it at once out of its misery, and
brought it home to the boats, where we made an
excellent breakfast upon it next morning.
April 12, 13, 14, and 15. During these four days
we kept on our course without any adventure of note.
The weather was very pleasant during the middle of
the day, but the nights and mornings were exceedingly
cold, and we had sharp frosts. Game was abundant.
Thornton still continued ill, and his sickness perplexed
and grieved me beyond measure. I missed his society
very much, and now found that he was almost the
only member of our party in whom I could strictly
confide. By this I merely mean that he was almost
the only one to whom I could, or would, freely un-
burthen my heart, with all its wild hopes, and fantastic
wishes — not that any individual among us was un-


76 TALES.
worthy of implicit faith. On the contrary, we were
all like brothers, and a dispute, of any importance,
never occurred. One interest seemed to bind all; or
rather we appeared to be a band of voyagers without
interest in view — mere travellers for pleasure. What
ideas the Canadians might have held upon this subject
I cannot, indeed, exactly say. These fellows talked a
great deal, to be sure, about the profits of the enter-
prise, and especially about their expected share of it;
yet I can scarcely think they cared much for these
points, for they were the most simple-minded, and
certainly the most obliging set of beings upon the face
of the earth. As for the rest of the crew, I have no
doubt in the world that the pecuniary benefit to be
afforded by the expedition was the last thing upon
which they speculated. Some singular evidences of
the feeling which more or less pervaded us all occurred
during the prosecution of the voyage. Interests, which,
in the settlements, would have been looked upon as of
the highest importance, were here treated as matters
unworthy of a serious word, and neglected, or totally
discarded upon the most frivolous pretext. Men who
had travelled thousands of miles through a howling
wilderness, beset by horrible dangers, and enduring the
most heart-rending privations for the ostensible purpose
of collecting peltries, would seldom take the trouble to
secure them when obtained, and would leave behind
them without a sigh an entire cache of fine beaver skins
rather than forego the pleasure of pushing up some
romantic-looking river, or penetrating into some craggy
and dangerous cavern, for minerals whose use they
knew nothing about, and which they threw aside as
lumber at the first decent opportunity.
In all this my own heart was very much with the


JULIUS RODMAN. jy
rest of the party; and I am free to say that, as we
proceeded on our journey, I found myself less and less
interested in the main business of the expedition, and
more and more willing to turn aside in pursuit of idle
amusement — if indeed I am right in calling by so
feeble a name as amusement that deep and most intense
excitement with which I surveyed the wonders and
majestic beauties of the wilderness. No sooner had
I examined one region than I was possessed with an
irresistible desire to push forward and explore another.
As yet, however, I felt as if in too close proximity to
the settlements for the full enjoyment of my burning
love of Nature, and of the unknown. I could not help
being aware that some civilized footsteps, although few,
had preceded me in my journey — that some eyes before
mine own had been enraptured with the scenes around
me. But for this sentiment, ever obtruding itself, I
should no doubt have loitered more frequently on the
way, turning aside to survey the features of the region
bordering upon the river, and perhaps penetrating
deeply, at times, into the heart of the country to the
north and south of our route. But I was anxious to
go on — to get, if possible, beyond the extreme bounds
of civilization — to gaze, if I could, upon those gigantic
mountains of which the existence had been made known
to us only by the vague accounts of the Indians. These
ulterior hopes and views I communicated fully to no
one of our party save Thornton. He participated in
all my most visionary projects, and entered completely
into the spirit of romantic enterprise which pervaded
my soul. I therefore felt his illness as a bitter evil.
He grew worse daily, while it was out of our power
to render him any effectual assistance.
April 16. To-day we had a cold rain with a high


78 TALES.
wind from the north, obliging us to come to anchor
until late in the afternoon. At four o'clock, p.m. we
proceeded, and made five miles by night. Thornton
was much worse.
April 17 and 18. During both these days we had
a continuance of raw unpleasant weather, with the
same cold wind from the north. We observed many
large masses of ice in the river, which was much
swollen and very muddy. The time passed unpleas-
antly, and we made no way. Thornton appeared to
be dying, and I now resolved to encamp at the first
convenient spot, and remain until his illness should
terminate. We accordingly, at noon this day, drew
the boats up a large creek coming in from the south,
and formed an encampment on the mainland.
April 25. We remained at the creek until this
morning, when, to the great joy of us all, Thornton
was sufficiently recovered to go on. The weather was
fine, and we proceeded gaily through a most lovely
portion of the country, without encountering a single
Indian, or meeting with any adventure out of the
usual course until the last of the month, when we
reached the country of the Mandans, or rather of the
Mandans, the Minnetarees, and the Ahnahaways; for
these three tribes all live in the near vicinity of each
other, occupying five villages. Not a great many years
ago the Mandans were settled in nine villages, about
eighty miles below, the ruins of which we passed with-
out knowing what they were — seven on the west and two
on the east of the river; but they were thinned off by
the small-pox and their old enemies the Sioux, until
reduced to a mere handful, when they ascended to their
present position. [Mr. R. gives here a tolerably full
account of the Minnetarees and Ahnahaways or Was-


JULIUS RODMAN. 79
satoons; bat we omit it, as differing in no important
particular from the ordinary statements respecting these
nations. 3 The Mandans received us with perfect
friendliness, and we remained in their neighborhood
three days, during which we overhauled and repaired
the piroque, and otherwise refitted. We also obtained
a good supply of hard corn, of a mixed color, which
the savages had preserved through the winter in holes
near the front of their lodges. While with the Man-
dans we were visited by a Minnetaree chief, called
Waukerassah, who behaved with much civility, and
was of service to us in many respects. The son of this
chief we engaged to accompany us as interpreter as far
as the great fork. We made the father several presents,
with which he was greatly pleased.1 On the first of
May we bade adieu to the Mandans, and went on our
way.
May 1. The weather was mild, and the surrounding
country began to assume a lovely appearance with the
opening vegetation, which was now much advanced.
The cotton-wood leaves were quite as large as a crown,
and many flowers were full blown. The low grounds
began to spread out here more than usual, and were
well supplied with timber. The cotton-wood and
common willow, as well as red willow, abounded;
with rose-bushes in great plenty. Beyond the low
grounds on the river, the country extended in one im-
mense plain without wood of any kind. The soil was
remarkably rich. The game was more abundant than
we had ever yet seen it. We kept a hunter ahead of
us on each bank, and to-day they brought in an elk, a
goat, five beavers, and a great number of plovers. The
1 The chief Waukerassah is mentioned by Captains Lewis and
Clarke, whom he also visited.


8O TALES.
beavers were very tame and easily taken. This animal
is quite a bonne bouche as an article of food; especially
the tail, which is of a somewhat glutinous nature, like
the fins of the halibut. A beaver tail will suffice for a
plentiful dinner for three men. We made twenty miles
before night.
May 2. We had a fine wind this morning, and
used our sails until noon, when it became rather too
much for us, and we stopped for the day. Our hunt-
ers went out and shortly returned with an immense elk,
whom Neptune had pulled down after a long chase,
the animal having been only slightly wounded by a buck
shot. He measured six feet in height. An antelope
was also caught about dusk. As soon as the creature
saw our men, it flew off with the greatest velocity, but
after a few minutes stopped, and returned on its steps,
apparently through curiosity — then bounded away
again. This conduct was repeated frequently, each
time the game coming nearer and nearer, until at length
it ventured within rifle distance, when a shot from the
Prophet brought it down. It was lean and with young.
These animals, although of incredible swiftness of foot,
are still bad swimmers, and thus frequently fall a vic-
tim to the wolves, in their attempts to cross a stream.
To-day made twelve miles.
May 3. This morning we made great headway,
and by night had accomplished full thirty miles. The
game continued to be abundant. Buffaloes, in vast
numbers, lay dead along the shore, and we saw many
wolves devouring the carcasses. They fled always at
our approach. We were much at a loss to account for
the death of the buffaloes, but some weeks afterwards
the mystery was cleared up. Arriving at a pass of the
river where the bluffs were steep and the water deep


JULIUS RODMAN. 81
at their base, we observed a large herd of the huge
beasts swimming across, and stopped to watch their
motions. They came in a sidelong manner down the
current, and had apparently entered the water from a
gorge, about half a mile above, where the bank sloped
into the stream. Upon reaching the land on the west
side of the river they found it impossible to ascend the
cliffs, and the water was beyond their depth. After
struggling for some time, and endeavoring in vain to get
a foot-hold in the steep and slippery clay, they turned
and swam to the eastern shore, where the same kind
of inaccessible precipices presented themselves, and
where the ineffectual struggle to ascend was repeated.
They now turned a second time, a third, a fourth, and
a fifth — always making the shore at very nearly the
same places. Instead of suffering themselves to go
down with the current in search of a more favorable
landing, (which might have been found a quarter of a
mile below,) they seemed bent upon maintaining their
position, and, for this purpose, swam with their breasts
at an acute angle to the stream and used violent exer-
tions to prevent being borne down. At the fifth time
of crossing, the poor beasts were so entirely exhausted
that it was evident they could do no more. They now
struggled fearfully to scramble up the bank, and one or
two of them had nearly succeeded, when, to our great
distress (for we could not witness their noble efforts
without commiseration) the whole mass of loose earth
above caved in, and buried several of them in its fall,
without leaving the cliff in better condition for ascent.
Upon this the rest of the herd commenced a lamenta-
ble kind of lowing or moaning — a sound conveying
more of a dismal sorrow and despair than anything
which it is possible to imagine — I shall never get it
vol. iv — 6


82 TALES.
out of my head. Some of the beasts made another
attempt to swim the river, struggled a few minutes, and
sank — the waves above them being dyed with the red
blood that gushed from their nostrils in the death agony.
But the greater part, after the moaning described, seemed
to yield supinely to their fate, rolled over on their backs,
and disappeared. The whole herd were drowned —
not a buffalo escaped. Their carcasses were thrown up
in half an hour afterwards upon the flat grounds a short
distance below, where, but for their ignorant obstinacy,
they might so easily have landed in safety.
Mai 4. The weather was delightful, and, with a
fair warm wind from the south, we made twenty-five
miles before night. To-day Thornton was sufficiently
recovered to assist in the duties of the boat. In the
afternoon he went out with me into the prairie on the
west, where we saw a great number of early spring
flowers of a kind never seen in the settlements. Many
of them were of a rare beauty and delicious perfume.
We saw also game in great variety, but shot none, as
we were sure the hunters would bring in more than
was wanted for use, and I was averse to the wanton
destruction of life. On our way home we came upon
two Indians of the Assiniboin nation, who accompanied
us to the boats. They had evinced nothing like dis-
trust on the way, but, on the contrary, had been frank
and bold in demeanor; we were therefore much sur-
prised to sec them, upon coming within a stone's throw
of the piroque, turn, both of them, suddenly round,
and make off' into the prairie at full speed. Upon
getting a good distance from us, they stopped and as-
cended a knoll which commanded a view of the river.
Here they lay on their bellies, and, resting their chins
on their hands, seemed to regard us with the deepest


JULIUS RODMAN. 83
astonishment. By the aid of a spy-glass I could mi-
nutely observe their countenances, which bore evidence
of both amazement and terror. They continued watch-
ing us for a long time. At length, as if struck with a
sudden thought, they arose hurriedly and commenced
a rapid flight in the direction from which we had seen
them issue at first.
May 5. As we were getting under way very early
chis morning, a large party of Assiniboins suddenly
rushed upon the boats, and succeeded in taking posses-
sion of the piroque before we could make any effectual
resistance. No one was in it at the time except Jules,
who escaped by throwing himself into the river, anp
swimming to the large boat, which we had pushed out
into the stream. These Indians had been brought
upon us by the two who had visited us the day before,
and the party must have approached us in the most
stealthy manner imaginable, as we had our sentries
regularly posted, and even Neptune failed to give any
token of their vicinity.
We were preparing to fire upon the enemy when
Misquash (the new interpreter—son of Waukerassah )
gave us to understand that the Assiniboins were friends
and were now making signals of amity. Although we
could not help thinking that the highway robbery of
our boat was but an indifferent way of evincing friend-
ship, still we were willing to see what these people had
to say, and desired Misquash to ask them why they
had behaved as they did. They replied with many
protestations of regard; and we at length found that
they really had no intention of molesting us any farther
than to satisfy an ardent curiosity which consumed
them, and which they now entreated us to appease. It
appeared that the two Indians of the day before, whose


84 TALES.
singular conduct had so surprised us, had been struck
with sudden amazement at the sooty appearance of our
negro, Toby. They had never before seen or heard
of a blackamoor, and it must therefore be confessed that
their astonishment was not altogether causeless. Toby,
moreover, was as ugly an old gentleman as ever spoke
— having all the peculiar features of his race; the
swollen lips, large white protruding eyes, flat nose,
long ears, double head, pot-belly, and bow legs.
Upon relating their adventure to their companion, the
two savages could obtain no credit for the wonderful
story, and were about losing caste for ever, as liars and
double-dealers, when they proposed to conduct the
whole band to the boats by way of vindicating their
veracity. The sudden attack seemed to have been
the mere result of impatience on the part of the
still incredulous Assiniboins; for they never after-
wards evinced the slightest hostility, and yielded up
the piroque as soon as we made them understand that
we would let them have a good look at old Toby.
The latter personage took the matter as a very good
joke, and went ashore at once, in naturalibus, that the
inquisitive savages might observe the whole extent of
the question. Their astonishment and satisfaction
were profound and complete. At first they doubted
the evidence of their own eyes, spitting upon their
fingers and rubbing the skin of the negro to be sure
that it was not painted. The wool on the head
elicited repeated shouts of applause, and the bandy
legs were the subject of unqualified admiration. A jig
dance on the part of our ugly friend brought matters to
a climax. Wonder was now at its height. Appro-
bation could go no farther. Had Toby but possessed
a single spark of ambition he might then have made


JULIUS RODMAN. 85
his fortune for ever by ascending the throne of the
Assiniboins, and reigning as King Toby the First.
This incident detained us until late in the day.
After interchanging some civilities and presents with
the savages, we accepted the aid of six of the band in
rowing us about five miles on our route — a very
acceptable assistance, and one for which we did not
fail to thank Toby. We made, to-day, only twelve
miles, and encamped at night on a beautiful island
which we long remembered for the delicious fish and
fowl which its vicinity afforded us. We stayed at this
pleasant spot two days, during which we feasted and
made merry, with very little care for the morrow, and
with very little regard to the numerous beaver which
disported around us. We might have taken at this
island one or two hundred skins without difficulty. As
it was, we collected about twenty. The island is at
the mouth of a tolerably large river coming in from the
south, and at a point where the Missouri strikes off in
a due westerly direction. The latitude is about 48.
May 8. We proceeded with fair winds and fine
weather, and after making twenty or twenty-five miles,
reached a large river coming in from the north. Where
it debouches, however, it is very narrow — not more
than a dozen yards wide, and appears to be quite
choked up with mud. Upon ascending it a short dis-
tance, a fine bold stream is seen, seventy or eighty yards
wide, and very deep, passing through a beautiful valley
abounding in game. Our new guide told us the name
of this river, but I have no memorandum of it.1
Robert Greely shot here some geese which build
their nests upon trees.
May 9. In many places a little distant from the
1 Probably White-earth River. — Eds. G. M.


86 TALES.
river banks, to-day, we observed the ground encrusted
with a white substance which proved to be a strong
salt. We made only fifteen miles, owing to several
petty hindrances, and encamped at night on the main-
land, among some clumps of cotton-wood and rabbit-
berry bushes.
May 10. To-day the weather was cold, and the
wind strong, but fair. We made great headway.
The hills in this vicinity are rough and jagged, show-
ing irregular broken masses of rock, some of which
tower to a great height, and appear to have been
subject to the action of water. We picked up several
pieces of petrified wood and bone; and coal was scat-
tered about in every direction. The river gets very
crooked.
May 11. Detained the greater part of the day by
squalls and rain. Towards evening it cleared up
beautifully with a fair wind, of which we took advan-
tage, making ten miles before encamping. Several fat
beavers were caught, and a wolf was shot upon the
bank. He seemed to have strayed from a large herd
which were prowling about us.
May 12. Landed to-day at noon, after making ten
miles, upon a small steep island, for the purpose of
overhauling some of our things. As we were about
taking our departure, one of the Canadians, who led
the van of the party and was several yards in advance,
.suddenly disappeared from our view with a loud scream.
We all ran forward immediately and laughed heartily
upon finding that our man had only tumbled into an
empty cache, from which we soon extricated him.
Had he been alone, however, there is much room for
question if he would have got out at all. We examined
the hole very carefully but found nothing in it beyond


JULIUS RODMAN. By
a few empty bottles; we did not even see anything
serving to show whether French, British, or Americans
had concealed their goods here; and we felt some
cariosity upon this point.
May 13. Arrived at the junction of the Yellow-
stone with the Missouri, after making twenty-five miles
during the day. Misquash here left us, and returned
home.


CHAPTER VI.1
The character of the country through which we had
passed for the last two or three days was cheerless in
comparison with that to which we had been accus-
tomed. In general it was more level; the timber
being more abundant on the skirts of the stream, with
little or none at all in the distance. Wherever bluffs
appeared upon the margin we descried indications of
coal, and we saw one extensive bed of a thick bitumi-
nous nature which very much discolored the water for
some hundred yards below it. The current is more
gentle than hitherto, the water clearer, and the rocky
points and shoals fewer, although such as we had to
pass were as difficult as ever. We had rain incessantly,
which rendered the banks so slippery that the men who
had the towing lines could scarcely walk. The air too
was disagreeably chilly, and upon ascending some low
hills near the river we observed no small quantity of
snow lying in the clefts and ridges. In the extreme
distance on our right we had perceived several Indian
encampments which had the appearance of being tem-
porary, and had been only lately abandoned. This
region gives no indication of any permanent settlement,
but appears to be a favorite hunting ground with the
tribes in the vicinity — a fact rendered evident by the
frequent traces of the hunt, which we came across in
every direction. The Minnetarees of the Missouri,
it is well known, extend their excursions in pursuit of
1 The record is returned in the Gentleman's Magazine for June,
1840.— Ed.
88


JULIUS RODMAN. 89
game as high as the great fork, on the south side, while
the Assiniboins go up still higher. Misquash informed
us that between our present encampment and the
Rocky Mountains we should meet with no lodges
except those of the Minnetarees that reside on the
lower or south side of the Saskatchawine.
The game had been exceedingly abundant, and in
great variety — elk, buffalo, big-horn, mule-deer, bears,
foxes, beaver, etc., etc., with wild fowl innumerable. .
Fish was also plentiful. The width of the stream varied
considerably from two hundred and fifty yards to passes
where the current rushed between bluffs not more than
a hundred feet apart. The face of these bluffs gener-
ally was composed of a light yellowish freestone, inter-
mingled with burnt earth, pumice-stone, and mineral
salts. At one point the aspect of the country under-
went a remarkable change, the hills retiring on both
sides to a great distance from the river, which was
thickly interspersed with small and beautiful islands, cov-
ered with cotton-wood. The low grounds appeared to
be very fertile; those on the north wide and low, and
opening into three extensive valleys. Here seemed to
be the extreme northern termination of the range of
mountains through which the Missouri had been pass-
ing for so long a time, and which are called the
Black Hills by the savages. The change from the
mountainous region to the level was indicated by the at-
mosphere, which now became dry and pure; so much
so indeed that we perceived its effects upon the seams
of our boats and our few mathematical instruments.
As we made immediate approach to the forks it came
on to rain very hard, and the obstructions in the river
were harassing in the extreme. The banks in some
places were so slippery, and the clay so soft and stiff,


90 TALES.
that the men were obliged to go barefooted, as they
could not keep on their moccasins. The shores also
were full of pools of stagnant water, through which we
were obliged to wade, sometimes up to our arm-pits.
Then again we had to scramble over enormous shoals
of sharp-pointed flints, which appeared to be the wreck
of cliffs that had fallen down en masse. Occasionally
we came to a precipitous gorge or gully, which it would
put us to the greatest labor to pass, and in attempting
to push by one of these the rope of the large boat (be-
ing old and much worn) gave way and permitted her to
be swung round by the current upon a ledge of rock in
the middle of the stream, where the water was so deep
that we could only work in getting her off by the aid
of the piroque, and so were full six hours in effecting it.
At one period we arrived at a high wall of black rock
on the south, towering above the ordinary cliffs for about
a quarter of a mile along the stream; after which there
was an open plain, and about three miles beyond this
again, another wall of a light color on the same side,
fully two hundred feet high; then another plain or val-
ley, and then still another wall of the most singular
appearance arises on the north, soaring in height prob-
ably two hundred and fifty feet, and being in thickness
about twelve, with a very regular artificial character.
These cliffs present indeed the most extraordinary aspect,
rising perpendicularly from the water. The last men-
tioned are composed of very white soft sandstone, which
readily receives the impression of the water. In the
upper portion of them appears a sort of frieze or cornice
formed by the intervention of several thin horizontal
strata of a white freestone, hard, and unaffected by the
rains. Above them is a dark rich soil, sloping gradu-
ally back from the water to the extent of a mile or


JULIUS RODMAN. 91
thereabouts, when other hills spring up abruptly to the
height of full five hundred feet more.
The face of these remarkable cliffs, as might be sup-
posed, is chequered with a variety of lines formed by
the trickling of the rains upon the soft material, so that
a fertile fancy might easily imagine them to be gigantic
monuments reared by human art, and carved over with
hieroglvphical devices. Sometimes there are complete
niches (like those we see for statues in common temples)
formed by the dropping out bodily of large fragments
of the sandstone; and there are several points where
staircases and long corridors appear, as accidental frac-
tures in the freestone cornice happened to let the rain
trickle down uniformly upon the softer material below.
We passed these singular bluffs in a bright moonlight
and their effect upon my imagination I shall never for-
get. They had all the air of enchanted structures,
(such as I have dreamed of,) and the twittering of
myriads of martins, which have built their nests in the
holes that every where perforate the mass, aided this
conception not a little. Besides the main walls there
are, at intervals, inferior ones, of from twenty to a hun-
dred feet high, and from one to twelve or fifteen feet
thick, perfectly regular in shape, and perpendicular.
These are formed of a succession of large black-looking
stones, apparently made up of loam, sand, and quartz,
and absolutely symmetrical in figure, although of various
sizes. They are usually square, but sometimes oblong
(always parallelipedal) and are lying one above the
other as exactly and with as perfect regularity as if
placed there by some mortal mason; each upper stone
covering and securing the point of junction between two
lower ones, just as bricks are laid in a wall. Some-
times these singular erections run in parallel lines, as


92 TALES.
many as four abreast; sometimes they leave the river
and go back until lost amid the hills; sometimes they
cross each other at right angles, seeming to enclose large
artificial gardens, the vegetation within which is often
of a character to preserve the illusion. Where the
walls are thinnest, there the bricks are less in size and
the converse. We regarded the scenery presented to
our view at this portion of the Missouri as altogether
the most surprising, if not the most beautiful, which
we had yet seen. It left upon my own mind an im-
pression of novelty — of singularity, which can never
be effaced.
Shortly before reaching the fork we came to a pretty
large island on the northern side, one mile and a quarter
from which is a low ground on the south very thickly
covered with fine timber. After this there were several
small islands, at each of which we touched for a few
minutes as we passed. Then we came to a very black-
looking bluff on the north, and then to two other small
islands, about which we observed nothing remarkable.
Going a few miles farther we reached a tolerably large
island situated near the point of a steep promontory;
afterwards passing two others, smaller. All these islands
are well timbered. It was at night on the 13 th of
May, that we were shown by Misquash the mouth
of the large river, which in the settlements goes by the
name of the Yellow Stone, but by the Indians is called
the Ahmateaza.1 We made our camp on the south
shore in a beautiful plain covered with cotton wood.
1 There appears to be some discrepancy here which we have not
thought it worth while to alter, as, after all, Mr. Rodman may not
be in the wrong. The Amateaza (according to the Narrative of
Lewis and Clarke) is the name given by the Minnetarees, not to the
Yellow Stone, but to the Missouri itself.


JULIUS RODMAN. 93
May 14. This morning we were all awake and
stirring at an early hour, as the point we had now
reached was one of great importance, and it was requi-
site that, before proceeding any farther, we should make
some survey by way of ascertaining which of the two
large streams in view would afford us the best passage
onward. It seemed to be the general wish of the party
to push up one of these rivers as far as practicable, with
a view of reaching the Rocky Mountains, when we
might perhaps hit upon the head waters of the large
stream Aregan, described by all the Indians with whom
we had conversed upon the subject, as running into the
great Pacific Ocean. I was also anxious to attain this
object, which opened to my fancy a world of exciting
adventure, but I foresaw many difficulties which we
must necessarily encounter if we made the attempt with
our present limited information in respect to the region
we should have to traverse, and the savages who occu-
pied it; about which latter we only knew indeed that
they were generally the most ferocious of the North
American Indians. I was afraid, too, that we might
get into the wrong stream, and involve ourselves in an
endless labyrinth of troubles which would dishearten
the men. These thoughts, however, did not give me
any long uneasiness, and I set to work at once to
explore the neighborhood; sending some of the party
up the banks of each stream to estimate the comparative
volume of water in each, while I myself, with Thornton
and John Greely, proceeded to ascend the high grounds
in the fork, whence an extensive prospect of the sur-
rounding region might be attained. We saw here an
immense and magnificent country spreading out on
every side into a vast plain, waving with glorious
verdure, and alive with countless herds of buffaloes and


94 TALES.
wolves, intermingled with occasional elk and antelope.
To the south the prospect was interrupted by a range
of high, snow-capped mountains, stretching from south-
east to north-west, and terminating abruptly. Behind
these again was a higher range, extending to the very
horizon in the north-west. The two rivers presented
the most enchanting appearance as they wound away
their long snake-like lengths in the distance, growing
thinner and thinner until they looked like mere faint
threads of silver as they vanished in the shadowy mists
of the sky. We could glean nothing, from their direc-
tion so far, as regards their ultimate course, and so
descended from our position much at a loss what to do.
The examination of the two currents gave us but
little more satisfaction. The north stream was found
to be the deeper, but the south was the wider, and the
volume of water differed but little. The first had all
the color of the Missouri, but the latter had the
peculiar round gravelly bed which distinguishes a river
that issues from a mountainous region. We were
finally determined by the easier navigation of the north
branch to pursue this course, although from the rapidly
increasing shallowness we found that in a few days, at
farthest, we should have to dispense with the large
boat. We spent three days at our encampment, dur-
ing which we collected a great many fine skins, and
deposited them with our whole stock on hand, in a
well constructed cache on a small island in the river
a mile below the junction.1 We also brought in a
1 Cachet are holes very frequently dug by the trappers and fur
traders, in which to deposit their furs or other goods during a tem-
porary absence. A dry and retired situation is first selected. A
circle about two feet in diameter is then described — the sod within
this carefully removed and laid by. A hole is now sunk perpen-


JULIUS RODMAN. 95
great quantity of game, and especially of deer, some
haunches of which we pickled or corned for future use.
We found great abundance of the prickly pear in this
vicinity, as well as chokeberries in great plenty upon
the low grounds and ravines. There were also many
yellow and red currants (not ripe) with gooseberries.
Wild roses were just beginning to open their buds in
the most wonderful profusion. We left our encamp-
ment in fine spirits on the morning of
May 18. The day was pleasant, and we proceeded
merrily, notwithstanding the constant interruptions
occasioned by the shoals and jutting points with which
the stream abounds. The men, one and all, were
enthusiastic in their determination to persevere, and
the Rocky Mountains were the sole theme of conver-
sation. In leaving our peltries behind us, we had con-
siderably lightened the boats, and we found much less
difficulty in getting them forward through the rapid
currents than would otherwise have been the case.
The river was crowded with islands, at nearly all of
which we touched. At night we reached a deserted
Indian encampment, near bluffs of a blackish clay.
Rattlesnakes disturbed us very much, and before morn-
ing we had a heavy rain.
dicularly to the depth of a foot, and afterwards gradually widened
until the excavation becomes eight or ten feet deep, and six or seven
feet wide. As the earth is dug up, it is cautiously placed on a skin,
so as to prevent any traces upon the grass, and, when all is com-
pleted, is thrown into the nearest river, or otherwise effectually con-
cealed. This cache is lined throughout with dried sticks and hay,
or with skins, and within it almost any species of backwoods prop-
erty may be safely and soundly kept for years. When the goods
are in, and well covered with buffalo hide, earth is thrown upon
the whole, and stamped firmly down. Afterwards the sod is re-
placed, and a private mark made upon the neighboring trees, or
elsewhere, indicating the precise location of the depot. — Eds. G. M.


96 TALES.
May 19. We had not proceeded far before we
found the character of the stream materially altered,
and very much obstructed by sand bars, or rather
ridges of small stones, so that it was with the greatest
difficulty we could force a passage for the larger boat.
Sending two men ahead to reconnoitre, they returned
with an account of a wider and deeper channel above,
and once again we felt encouraged to persevere. We
pushed on for ten miles and encamped on a small island
for the night. We observed a peculiar mountain in
the distance to the south, of a conical form, isolated,
and entirely covered with snow.
May 20. We now entered into a better channel,
and pursued our course with little interruption for six-
teen miles, through a clayey country of peculiar char-
acter, and nearly destitute of vegetation. At night
we encamped on a very large island, covered with tall
trees, many of which were new to us. We remained
at this spot for five days to make some repairs in the
piroque.
During our sojourn here an incident of note occurred.
The banks of the Missouri in this neighborhood are
precipitous, and formed of a peculiar blue clay, which
becomes excessively slippery after rain. The cliffs,
from the bed of the stream back to the distance of a
hundred yards, or thereabouts, form a succession of
steep terraces of this clay, intersected in numerous
directions by deep and narrow ravines, so sharply worn
by the action of water at some remote period of time
as to have the appearance of artificial channels. The
mouths of these ravines, where they debouche upon the
river, have a very remarkable appearance, and look
from the opposite bank, by moonlight, like gigantic
columns standing erect upon the shore. To an observer


JULIUS RODMAN. 97
from the uppermost terrace the whole descent towards
the stream has an indescribably chaotic and dreary air.
No vegetation of any kind is seen.
John Greely, the Prophet, the interpreter Jules, and
myself started out after breakfast one morning to
ascend to the topmost terrace on the south shore for
the purpose of looking around us; in short to see
what could be seen. With great labor, and by using
scrupulous caution, we succeeded in reaching the level
grounds at the summit opposite our encampment. The
prairie here differs from the general character of that
kind of land in being thickly overgrown for many miles
back with cotton-wood, rose-bushes, red willow, and
broad-leaved willow; the soil being unsteady, and at
times swampy, like that of the ordinary low grounds
— it consists of a black-looking loam, one-third sand,
and when a handful of it is thrown into water, it dis-
solves in the manner of sugar, with strong bubbles.
In several spots we observed deep incrustations of
common salt, some of which we collected and used.
Upon reaching these level grounds we all sat down
to rest, and had scarcely done so when we were
alarmed by a loud growl immediately in our rear, pro-
ceeding from the thick underwood. We started to our
feet at once in great terror, for we had left our rifles at
the island, that we might be unencumbered in the
scramble up the cliffs, and the only arms we had were
pistols and knives. We had scarcely time to say a
word to each other before two enormous brown bears
(the first we had yet encountered during the voyage)
came rushing at us open-mouthed from a clump of rose-
bushes. These animals are much dreaded by the
Indians, and with reason, for they are indeed formida-
ble creatures, possessing prodigious strength, with un-
vol. iv — 7


98 TALES.
tameable ferocity, and the most wonderful tenacity of
life. There is scarcely any way of killing them by a
bullet, unless the shot be through the brains, and these
are defended by two large muscles covering the side of
the forehead, as well as by a projection of a thick
frontal bone. They have been known to live for days
with half a dozen balls through the lungs, and even
with very severe injuries in the heart. So far we had
never met with a brown bear, although often with its
tracks in the mud or sand, and these we had seen
nearly a foot in length, exclusive of the claws, and full
eight inches in width.
What to do was now the question. To stand and
fight, with such weapons as we possessed, was madness;
and it was folly to think of escape by flight in the direc-
tion of the prairie; for not only were the bears running
towards us from that quarter, but, at a very short dis-
tance back from the cliffs, the underwood of brier-bushes,
dwarf willow, &c., was so thick that we could not have
made our way through it at all, and if we kept our course
along the river between the underwood and the top of
the cliff, the animals would catch us in an instant; for
as the ground was boggy we could make no progress
upon it, while the large flat foot of the bear would en-
able him to travel with ease. It seemed as if these
reflections (which it takes some time to embody in
words) flashed all of them through the minds of all of
us in an instant — for every man sprang at once to the
cliffs, without sufficiently thinking of the hazard that
lay there.
The first descent was some thirty or forty feet, and
not very precipitous; the clay here also partook in a
slight degree of the loam of the upper soil; so that we
scrambled down with no great difficulty to the first ter-


JULIUS RODMAN. 99
race, the bears plunging after us with headlong fury.
Arrived here, we had not a moment for hesitation.
There was nothing left for us now but to encounter the
enraged beasts upon the narrow platform where we
stood, or to go over the second precipice. This was
nearly perpendicular, sixty or seventy feet deep, and
composed entirely of the blue clay which was now sat-
urated with late rains, and as slippery as glass itself.
The Canadian, frightened out of his senses, leaped to
the edge at once, slid with the greatest velocity down
the cliff, and was hurled over the third descent by the
impetus of his course. We then lost sight of him, and
of course supposed him lulled; for we could have no
doubt that his terrific slide would be continued from
precipice to precipice until it terminated with a plunge
over the last into the river — a fall of more than a hun-
dred and fifty feet.
Had Jules not gone in this way it is more than prob-
able that we should all have decided, in our extremity,
upon attempting the descent; but his fate caused us to
waver, and in the meantime the monsters were upon
us. This was the first time in all my life I had ever
been brought to close quarters with a wild animal of
any strength or ferocity, and I have no scruple to ac-
knowledge that my nerves were completely unstrung.
For some moments I felt as if about to swoon, but a
loud scream from Greely, who had been seized by the
foremost bear, had the effect of arousing me to exer-
tion, and when once fairly aroused I experienced a kind
of wild and savage pleasure from the conflict.
One of the beasts, upon reaching the narrow ledge
where we stood, had made an immediate rush at Greely,
and had borne him to the earth, where he stood over
him, holding him with his huge teeth lodged in the
256G9Vil


IOO TALES.
breast of his overcoat — which, by the greatest good
fortune, he had worn, the wind being chilly. The
other, rolling rather than scrambling down the cliff,
was under so much headway when he reached our sta-
tion that he could not stop himself until the one-half
of his body hung over the precipice; he staggered in a
sidelong manner, and his right legs went over while he
held on in an awkward way with his two left. While
thus situated he seized Wormley by the heel with his
mouth, and for an instant I feared the worst, for in his
efforts to free himself from the grasp the terrified strag-
gler aided the bear to regain his footing. While I stood
helpless, as above described, through terror, and watch-
ing the event without ability to render the slightest aid,
the shoe and moccasin of W. were torn off in the grasp
of the animal, who now tumbled headlong down to the
next terrace, but stopped himself, by means of his huge
claws, from sliding farther. It was now that Greelv
screamed for aid, and the Prophet and myself rushed
to his assistance. We both fired our pistols at the
bear's head; and my own ball, I am sure, must have
gone through some portion of his skull, for I held the
weapon close to his ear. He seemed more angry,
however, than hurt; the only good effect of the dis-
charge was in his quitting his hold of Greely (who had
sustained no injury) and making at us. We had noth-
ing but our knives to depend upon, and even the refuge
of the terrace below was cut off from us by the pres-
ence of another bear there. We had our backs to the
cliff, and were preparing for a deadly contest, not
dreaming of help from Greely (whom we supposed
mortally injured) when we heard a shot, and the huge
beast fell at our feet, just when we felt his hot and hor-
ribly fetid breath in our faces. Our deliverer, who


JULIUS RODMAN. IOI
had fought many a bear in his life-time, had put his
pistol deliberately to the eye of the monster, and the
contents had entered the brain.
Looking now downwards, we discovered the fallen
bruin making ineffectual efforts to scramble up to us —
the soft clay yielded to his claws, and he fell repeatedly
and heavily. We tried him with several shots, but did
no harm, and resolved to leave him where he was for
the crows. I do not see how he could ever have made
his escape from the spot. We crawled along the ledge
on which we stood for nearly half a mile before we
found a practicable path to the prairie above us, and
did not get to camp until late in the night. Jules was
there all alive, but cruelly bruised — so much so in-
deed that he had been unable to give any intelligible
account of his accident or of our whereabouts. He
had lodged in one of the ravines upon the third terrace,
and had made his way down its bed to the river shore.


MYSTIFICATION.
[1840; Broadway Journal, II. 25.]
Slid, if these be your "passados" and " montantes," I'll have
none o' them. — Ned Knowles.
The Baron Ritzner Von Jung was of a noble Hun-
garian family, every member of which (at least as far
back into antiquity as any certain records extend) was
more or less remarkable for talent of some description, —
the majority for that species of grotesquerie in concep-
tion of which Tieck, a scion of the house, has given
some vivid, although by no means the most vivid exem-
plifications. My acquaintance with Ritzner commenced
at the magnificent Chateau Jung, into which a train of
droll adventures, not to be made public, threw me dur-
ing the summer months of the year 18—. Here it
was I obtained a place in his regard, and here, with
somewhat more difficulty, a partial insight into his men-
tal conformation. In later days this insight grew more
clear, as the intimacy which had at first permitted it be-
came more close; and when, after three years separa-
tion, we met at G n, I knew all that it was necessary
to know of the character of the Baron Ritzner Von
Jung.
I remember the buzz of curiosity which his advent
excited within the college precincts on the night of the
twenty-fifth of June. I remember still more distinctlv,
that while he was pronounced by all parties at first sight


MYSTIFICATION. 103
"the most remarkable man in the world," no person
made any attempt at accounting for this opinion. That
he was unique appeared so undeniable, that it was deemed
impertinent to inquire wherein the uniquity consisted.
But, letting this matter pass for the present, I will merely
observe that, from the first moment of his setting foot
within the limits of the university, he began to exercise
over the habits, manners, persons, purses, and propen-
sities of the whole community which surrounded him,
an influence the most extensive and despotic, yet at
the same time the most indefinitive and altogether unac-
countable. Thus the brief period of his residence at the
university forms an era in its annals, and is character-
ized by all classes of people appertaining to it or its de-
pendencies as " that very extraordinary epoch forming
the domination of the Baron Ritzner Von Jung."
Upon his advent to G n, he sought me out in
my apartments. He was then of no particular age ; —
by which I mean that it was impossible to form a guess
respecting his age by any data personally afforded. He
might have been fifteen or fifty, and was twenty-one
years and seven months. He was by no means a hand-
some man — perhaps the reverse. The contour of his
face was somewhat angular and harsh. His forehead
was lofty and very fair; his nose a snub; his eyes large,
heavy, glassy and meaningless. About the mouth there
was more to be observed. The lips were gently pro-
truded, and rested the one upon the other after such
fashion that it is impossible to conceive any, even the
most complex, combination of human features, convey-
ing so entirely, and so singly, the idea of unmitigated
gravity, solemnity and repose.
It will be perceived, no doubt, from what I have
already said, that the Baron was one of those human


104 TALES.
anomalies now and then to be found, who make the
science of mystification the study and the business of their
lives. For this science a peculiar turn of mind gave
him instinctively the cue, while his physical appearance
afforded him unusual facilities for carrying his projects
into effect. I firmly believe that no student at G n,
during that renowned epoch so quaintly termed the domi-
nation of the Baron Ritzner Von Jung, ever rightly en-
tered into the mystery which overshadowed his character.
I truly think that no person at the university, with the
exception of myself, ever suspected him to be capable
of a joke, verbal or practical : — the old bull-dog at the
garden-gate would sooner have been accused, — the
ghost of Heraclitus, — or the wig of the Emeritus Pro-
fessor of Theology. This, too, when it was evident
that the most egregious and unpardonable of all con-
ceivable tricks, whimsicalities, and buffooneries were
brought about, if not directly by him, at least plainly
through his intermediate agency or connivance. The
beauty, if I may so call it, of his art mystique, lay in
that consummate ability (resulting from an almost intui-
tive knowledge of human nature, and a most wonderful
self-possession,) by means of which he never failed to
make it appear that the drolleries he was occupied in
bringing to a point, arose partly in spite, and partly in
consequence of the laudable efforts he was making for
their prevention, and for the preservation of the good
order and dignity of Alma Mater. The deep, the
poignant, the overwhelming mortification which, upon
each such failure of his praiseworthy endeavors, would
suffuse every lineament of his countenance, left not the
slightest room for doubt of his sincerity in the bosoms
of even his most skeptical companions. The adroitness,
too, was no less worthy of observation by which he


MYSTIFICATION. 105
contrived to shift the sense of the grotesque from the
creator to the created — from his own person to the ab-
surdities to which he had given rise. In no instance
before that of which I speak, have I known the habitual
mystific escape the natural consequence of his manoeuvres
— an attachment of the ludicrous to his own character
and person. Continually enveloped in an atmosphere
of whim, my friend appeared to live only for the severi-
ties of society; and not even his own household have
for a moment associated other ideas than those of the
rigid and august with the memory of the Baron Ritzner
Von Jung.
During the epoch of his residence at G n it really
appeared that the demon of the dolce far nitrite lay like
an incubus upon the university. Nothing, at least, was
done, beyond eating and drinking, and making merry.
The apartments of the students were converted into so
many pot-houses, and there was no pot-house of them
all more famous or more frequented than that of the
Baron. Our carousals here were many, and boisterous,
and long, and never unfruitful of events.
Upon one occasion we had protracted our sitting until
nearly daybreak, and an unusual quantity of wine had
been drunk. The company consisted of seven or eight
individuals besides the Baron and myself. Most of these
were young men of wealth, of high connection, of great
family pride, and all alive with an exaggerated sense of
honor. They abounded in the most ultra German opin-
ions respecting the duello. To these Quixotic notions
some recent Parisian publications, backed by three or
four desperate, and fatal rencontres at G n, had
given new vigor and impulse ; and thus the conversation,
during the greater part of the night, had run wild upon
the all-engrossing topic of the times. The Baron, who


106 TALES.
had been unusually silent and abstracted in the earlier por-
tion of the evening, at length seemed to be aroused
from his apathy, took a leading part in the discourse,
and dwelt upon the benefits, and more especially upon
the beauties, of the received code of etiquette in pas-
sages of arms, with an ardor, an eloquence, an impres-
siveness, and an affectionateness of manner, which elicited
the warmest enthusiasm from his hearers in general, and
absolutely staggered even myself, who well knew him
to be at heart a ridiculer of those very points for which
he contended, and especially to hold the entire fanfa-
ronnade of duelling etiquette in the sovereign contempt
which it deserves.
Looking around me during a pause in the Baron's
discourse, (of which my readers may gather some faint
idea when I say that it bore resemblance to the fervid,
chanting, monotonous, yet musical, sermonic manner
of Coleridge,) I perceived symptoms of even more than
the general interest in the countenance of one of the
party. This gentleman, whom I shall call Hermann,
was an original in every respect — except, perhaps, in
the single particular that he was a very great fool. He
contrived to bear, however, among a particular set at
the university, a reputation for deep metaphysical think-
ing, and, I believe, for some logical talent. As a duel-
list he had acquired great renown, even at G n. I
forget the precise number of victims who had fallen at
his hands; but they were many. He was a man of
courage undoubtedly. But it was upon his minute ac-
quaintance with the etiquette of the duello, and the nit v/v
of his sense of honor, that he most especially prided
himself. These things were a hobby which he rode to
the death. To Ritzner, ever upon the look-out for the
grotesque, his peculiarities had for a long time past


MYSTIFICATION. 107
a5brded food for mystification. Of this, however, I
was not aware; although, in the present instance, I saw
dearly that something of a whimsical nature was upon
the tapis with my friend, and that Hermann was its
especial object.
As the former proceeded in his discourse, or rather
monologue, I perceived the excitement of the latter
momsntly increasing. At length he spoke; offering
some objection to a point insisted upon by R., and
giving his reasons in detail. To these the Baron replied
at length (still maintaining his exaggerated tone of senti-
ment) and concluding, in what I thought very bad
taste, with a sarcasm and a sneer. The hobby of
Hermann now took the bit in his teeth. This I could
discern by the studied hair-splitting farrago of his
rejoinder. His last words I distinctly remember.
"Your opinions, allow me to say, Baron Von Jung,
although in the main correct, are, in many nice points,
discreditable to yourself and to the university of which
you are a member. In a few respects they are even
unworthy of serious refutation. I would say more than
this, sir, were it not for the fear of giving you offence
(here the speaker smiled blandly,) I would say, sir,
that your opinions are not the opinions to be expected
from a gentleman."
As Hermann completed this equivocal sentence, all
eyes were turned upon the Baron. He became pale,
then excessively red, then, dropping his pocket-hand-
kerchief, stooped to recover it, when I caught a glimpse
of his countenance, while it could be seen by no one
else at the table. It was radiant with the quizzical
expression which was its natural character, but which
I had never seen it assume except when we were alone
together, and when he unbent himself freely. In an


108 TALES.
instant afterward he stood erect, confronting Hermann;
and so total an alteration of countenance in so short a
period I certainly never saw before. For a moment I
even fancied that I had misconceived him, and that he
was in sober earnest. He appeared to be stifling with
passion, and his face was cadaverously white. For a
short time he remained silent, apparently striving to
master his emotion. Having at length seemingly suc-
ceeded, he reached a decanter which stood near him,
saying, as he held it firmly clenched — " The language
you have thought proper to employ, Mynheer Her-
mann, in addressing yourself to me, is objectionable in
so many particulars, that I have neither temper nor
time for specification. That my opinions, however,
are not the opinions to be expected from a gentleman,
is an observation so directly offensive as to allow me
but one line of conduct. Some courtesy, nevertheless,
is due to the presence of this company, and to yourself,
at this moment, as my guest. You will pardon me,
therefore, if, upon this consideration, I deviate slightly
from the general usage among gentlemen in similar cases
of personal affront. You will forgive me for the mod-
erate tax I shall make upon your imagination, and en-
deavor to consider, for an instant, the reflection of your
person in yonder mirror as the living Mynheer Hermann
himself. This being done, there will be no difficulty
whatever. I shall discharge this decanter of wine at
your image in yonder mirror, and thus fulfil all the
spirit, if not the exact letter, of resentment for your
insult, while the necessity of physical violence to your
real person will be obviated."
With these words he hurled the decanter, full of
wine, against the mirror which hung directly opposite
Hermann; striking the reflection of his person with


MYSTIFICATION. 109
great precision, and of course shattering the glass into
fragments. The whole company at once started to
their feet, and, with the exception of myself and Ritz-
ner, took their departure. As Hermann went out, the
Baron whispered me that I should follow him and make
an offer of my services. To this I agreed; not know-
ing precisely what to make of so ridiculous a piece of
business.
The duellist accepted my aid with his stiff and ultra
recherchi air, and taking my arm, led me to his apart-
ment. I could hardly forbear laughing in his face while
he proceeded to discuss, with the profbundest gravity,
what he termed "the refinedly peculiar character" of
the insult he had received. After a tiresome harangue
in his ordinary style, he took down from his book-
shelves a number of musty volumes on the subject of
the duello, and entertained me for a long time with
their contents; reading aloud, and commenting earn-
estly as he read. I can just remember the titles of
some of the works. There were the "Ordonnance
of Philip le Bel on Single Combat;" the "Theatre
of Honor," by Favyn, and a treatise "On the Per-
mission of Duels," by D' Audiguier. He displayed,
also, with much pomposity, Brantome's "Memoirs
of Duels," published at Cologne, in 1666, in the
types of Elzevir — a precious and unique vellum-paper
volume, with a fine margin, and bound by Derome.
But he requested my attention particularly, and with
an air of mysterious sagacity, to a thick octavo, written
in barbarous Latin by one Hedelin, a Frenchman, and
having the quaint title, "Due lli Lex script a, et non ,-
aliteraue." From this he read me one of the drollest
chapters in the world concerning "Injuria per appli-
cationem, per constructionem, et per se," about half of


HO TALES.
which, he averred, was strictly applicable to his own
"refinedly peculiar" case, although not one syllable
of the whole matter could I understand for the life of
me. Having finished the chapter, he closed the book,
and demanded what I thought necessary to be done.
I replied that I had entire confidence in his superior
delicacy of feeling, and would abide by what he pro-
posed. With this answer he seemed flattered, and sat
down to write a note to the Baron. It ran thus:
Sir, — My friend, M. P , will hand you this
note. I find it incumbent upon me to request, at your
earliest convenience, an explanation of this evening's
occurrences at your chambers. In the event of your
declining this request, Mr. P. will be happy to arrange,
with any friend whom you may appoint, the steps pre-
liminary to a meeting.
With sentiments of perfect respect,
Your most humble servant,
Johan Hermann.
To the Baron Ritzner Von Jung,
August 18 th, 18—.
Not knowing what better to do, I called upon Ritz-
ner with this epistle. He bowed as I presented it;
then, with a grave countenance, motioned me to a seat.
Having perused the cartel, he wrote the following
reply, which I carried to Hermann.
Sir,
Through our common friend, Mr. P., I have re-
ceived your note of this evening. Upon due reflection
I frankly admit the propriety of the explanation you
suggest. This being admitted, I still find great diffi-


MYSTIFICATION. 111
culty, (owing to the refinedly peculiar nature of our
disagreement, and of the personal affront offered on my
port,) in so wording what I have to say by way of
apology, as to meet all the minute exigencies, and all
the variable shadows of the case. I have great reli-
ance, however, on that extreme delicacy of discrimina-
tion, in matters appertaining to the rules of etiquette,
for which you have been so long and so preeminently
distinguished. With perfect certainty, therefore, of
being comprehended, I beg leave, in lieu of offering
any sentiments of my own, to refer you to the opinions
of the Sieur Hedelin, as set forth in the ninth paragraph
of the chapter of " Injuria- per applicationem, per con-
structienem, et per se," in his "Due Hi Lex scrip ta,
et non; aliterque." The nicety of your discernment
in all the matters here treated, will be sufficient, I
am assured, to convince you that the mere circum-
stance of me referring you to this admirable passage,
ought to satisfy your request, as a man of honor, for
explanation.
With sentiments of profound respect,
Your most obedient servant,
Von Jung.
Tbe Herr Johan Hermann.
August l8th, 18—.
Hermann commenced the perusal of this epistle with
a scowl, which, however, was converted into a smile
of the most ludicrous self-complacency as he came to
the rigmarole about Injuria per applicationem, per
constructionem, et per se. Having finished reading, he
begged me, with the blandest of all possible smiles, to
be seated, while he made reference to the treatise in
question. Turning to the passage specified, he read


112 TALES.
it with great care to himself, then closed the book, and
desired me, in my character of confidential acquaintance,
to express to the Baron Von Jung his exalted sense of
his chivalrous behaviour, and, in that of second, to assure
him that the explanation offered was of the fullest, the
most honourable, and the most unequivocally satisfactory
nature.
Somewhat amazed at all this, I made my retreat to
the Baron. He seemed to receive Hermann's amicable
letter as a matter of course, and after a few words of
general conversation, went to an inner room and brought
out the everlasting treatise "Due/ft Lex scripta, et
non; a liter que." He handed me the volume and
asked me to look over some portion of it. I did so,
but to little purpose, not being able to gather the least
particle of meaning. He then took the book himself,
and read me a chapter aloud. To my surprise, what
he read proved to be a most horribly absurd account
of a duel between two baboons. He now explained
the mystery; showing that the volume, as it appeared
prima facie, was written upon the plan of the nonsense
verses of Du Bartas; that is to say, the language was
ingeniously framed so as to present to the ear all the
outward signs of intelligibility, and even of profundity,
while in fact not a shadow of meaning existed. The
key to the whole was found in leaving out every second
and third word alternately, when there appeared a
series of ludicrous quizzes upon a single combat as prac-
tised in modern times.
The Baron afterwards informed me that he had pur-
posely thrown the treatise in Hermann's way two or
three weeks before the adventure, and that he was
satisfied, from the general tenor of his conversation,
that he had studied it with the deepest attention, and


MYSTIFICATION. 113
firmly believed it to be a work of unusual merit. Upon
this hint he proceeded. Hermann would have died
a thousand deaths rather than acknowledge his inability
to understand anything and everything in the universe
that had ever been written about the duello.
vol. iv. — 8


WHY THE LITTLE FRENCH-
MAN
WEARS HIS HAND IN A SUNG.
[Edition of 1840; Broadway Journal, II., 9.]
It's on my wisiting cards sure enough (and it's
them that's all o' pink satin paper) that inny gin t! cm an
that plases may behould the intheristhin words, "Sir
PathrickO'Grandison, Barronitt, 39 Southampton Row,
Russell Square, Parrish o' Bloomsbury." And; shud
ye be wantin to diskiver who is the pink of purliteness
quite, and the laider of the hot tun in the houl city o'
Lonon — why it's jist mesilf. And fait that same is
no wonder at all at all, (so be plased to stop curlin your
nose,) for every inch o' the six wakes that I've been
a gintleman, and left aff wid the bog-throthing to take
up wid the Barronissy, it's Pathrick that's been living
like a houly imperor, and gitting the iddication and the
graces. Och! and wouldn't it be a blessed thing for
your sperrits if ye cud lay your two peepers jist, upon
Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, when he is all
riddy drissed for the hopperer, or stipping into the
Brisky for the drive into the Hyde Park.—But it's
the iligant big figgur that I ave, for the rason o' which
all the ladies fall in love wid me. Isn't it my own
swate silf now that'll missure the six fut, and the three
inches more nor that, in me stockings, and that am
114


THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN. 115
excadingly will proportioned all over to match? And
is it ralelly more than the three hit and a bit that there
is, inny how, of the little ould furrener Frinchman that
lives jist over the way, and that's a oggling and a gog-
gling the houl day, (and bad luck to him,) at the purty
widdy Misthress Trade that's my own nixt door
neighbor, (God bliss her) and a most particuller frind
and acquintance? You percave the little spalpeen is
summat down in the mouth, and wears his lift hand in
a sling; and it's for that same thing, by yur lave, that
I'm going to give you the good rason.
The truth of the houl matter is jist simple enough;
for the very first day that I com'd from Connaught,
and showd my swate little silf in the strait to the
widdy, who was looking through the windy, it was a
gone case althegither wid the heart o' the purty Mis-
thress Trade. I percaved it, ye see, all at once, and
no mistake, and that's God's thruth. First of all it
was up wid the windy in a jiffy, and thin she threw
open her two peepers to the itmost, and thin it was a
little gould spy-glass that she clapped tight to one o'
thim, and divil may burn me if it didn't spake to me
as plain as a peeper cud spake, and says it, through the
spy-glass, "Och! the tip o' the mornin to ye, Sir
Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, mavourneen; and it's
a nate gintleman that ye are, sure enough, and it's me-
silf and me fortin jist that'll be at yur sarvice, dear,
inny time o' day at all at all for the asking." And
it's not mesilf ye wud have to be bate in the purliteness;
so I made her a bow that wud ha broken yur heart
althegither to behould, and thin I pulled aff me hat
with a flourish, and thin I winked at her hard wid both
eyes, as much as to say, "Thrue for you, yer a swate
little crature, Mrs. Trade, me darlint, and I wish I


116 TALES.
may be drownthed dead in a bog, if it's not mesilf,
Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, that'll make a
houl bushel o' love to yur leddy-ship, in the twinkling
o' the eye of a Londonderry purraty."
And it was the nixt mornin, sure, jist as I was mak-
ing up me mind whither it wouldn't be the purlite
thing to sind a bit o' writin to the widdy by way of a
love-litter, when up cum'd the delivery sarvant wid an
illigant card, and he tould me that the name on it (for
I niver cud rade the copper-plate printin on account of
being lift handed) was all about Mounseer, the Count,
A Goose, Look-aisv, Maiter-di-dauns, and that the
houl of the divilish lingo was the spalpeeny long name of
the little ould furrener Frinchman as lived over the way.
And jist wid that in cum'd the little willian himsilf,
and thin he made me a broth of a bow, and thin he
said he had ounly taken the liberty of doing me the
honor of the giving me a call, and thin he went on to
palaver at a great rate, and divil the bit did I compre-
hind what he wud be afther the tilling me at all at all,
excipting and saving that he said "pully wou, woolly
wou," and tould me, among a bushel o' lies, bad luck
to him, that he was mad for the love o' my widdy
Misthress Trade, and that my widdy Mrs. Trade had
a puncheon for him.
At the hearin of this, ye may swear, though, I was
as mad as a grasshopper, but I remimbered that I was
Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, and that it wasn't
althegither gentaal to lit the anger git the upper hand
o' the purliteness, so I made light o' the matter and
kipt dark, and got quite sociable wid the little chap,
and afther a while what did he do but ask me to go
wid him to the widdy's, saying he wud give me the
feshionable inthroduction to her leddyship.


Why the Little Fpf'nchman wraps his Hand i> a Su>g.
Drawn by F. C Tilney.


I , -!








THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN. 117
"Is it there ye are?" said I thin to mesilf, "and
it's thrue for you, Pathrick, that ye're the fortunnittest
mortal in life. We'll soon see now whither it's your
swate silf, or whither it's little Mounseer Maiter-di-
dauns, that Misthress Trade is head and ears in the
love wid."
Wid that we wint aff to the widdy's, next door,
and ye may well say it was an illigant place; so it was.
There was a carpet all over the floor, and in one corner
there was a forty-pinny and a jews-harp and the divil
knows what ilse, and in another corner was a sofy, the
beautifullest thing in all natur, and sitting on the sofy,
sure enough, there was the swate little angel, Misthress
Trade.
"The tip o' the morning to ye," says I, "Mrs.
Trade," and thin I made sich an iligant obaysance
that it wud ha quite althegither bewildered the brain
o' ye.
"Wully woo, pully woo, plump in the mud," says
the little furrenner Frinchman, " and sure Mrs. Trade,"
says he, that he did, "isn't this gintleman here jist his
riverence Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt, and
isn't he althegither and entirely the most purticular frind
and acquintance that I have in the houl world?"
And wid that the widdy, she gits up from the sofy,
and makes the swatest curtchy nor iver was seen; and
thin down she sits like an angel; and thin, by the
powers, it was that little spalpeen Mounseer Maiter-di-
dauns that plumped his silf right down by the right side
of her. Och hon! I ixpicted the two eyes o' me wud
ha cum'd out of my head on the spot, I was so dis-
pirate mad! Howiver, "Bait who!" says I, after
a while. "Is it there ye are, Mounseer Maiter-di-
dauns?" and so down I plumped on the lift side of


Il8 TALES.
her leddyship, to be aven wid the willain. Bothera-
tion! it wud ha done your heart good to percave the
illigant double wink that I gived her jist thin right in
the face wid both eyes.
But the little ould Frinchman he niver beginned to
suspict me at all at all, and disperate hard it was he
made the love to her leddyship. "Woully wou,"
says he, "Pully wou," says he, "Plump in the
mud," says he.
"That's all to no use, Mounseer Frog, mavour-
neen," thinks I; and I talked as hard and as fast as
I could all the while, and throth it was mesilf jist that
divarted her leddyship complately and intirely, by rason
of the 'illigant conversation that I kipt up wid her all
about the dear bogs of Connaught. And by and by
she gived me such a swate smile, from one ind of her
mouth to the ither, that it made me as bould as a pig,
and I jist took hould of the ind of her little finger in
the most dillikittest manner in natur, looking at her all
the while out o' the whites of my eyes.
And then ounly percave the cuteness of the swate
angel, for no sooner did she obsarve that I was afther
the squazing of her flipper, than she up wid it in a
jiffy, and put it away behind her back, jist as much
as to say, "Now thin, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison,
there's a bitther chance for ye, mavourneen, for it's not
altogether the gentaal thing to be afther the squazing
of my flipper right full in the sight of that little fur-
renner Frinchman, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns."
Wid that I giv'd her a big wink jist to say, "lit
Sir Pathrick alone for the likes o' them thricks," and
thin I wint aisy to work, and you'd have died wid the
divarsion to behould how cliverly I slipped my right
arm betwane the back o' the sofy, and the back of her


THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN. 119
leddyship, and there, sure enough, I found a swate
little flipper all a waiting to say, "the tip o' the mornin
to ye, Sir Pathrick O'Grandison, Barronitt." And
wasn't it mesilf, sure, that jist giv'd it the laste little
bit of a squaze in the world, all in the way of a com-
mincement, and not to be too rough wid her leddy-
ship? and och, botheration, wasn't it the gentaalest
and dilikittest of all the little squazes that I got in
return? "Blood and thunder, Sir Pathrick, mavour-
neen," thinks I to mesilf, "fait it's jist the mother's
son of you, and nobody else at all at all, that's the
handsomest and the fortunittest young bogthrotter that
ever cum'd out of Connaught!" And wid that I
giv'd the flipper a big squaze, and a big squaze it was,
by the powers, that her leddyship giv'd to me back.
But it would ha split the seven sides o' you wid the
lafEn to behould, jist thin all at once, the concated be-
haviour of Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns. The likes o'
sich a jabbering, and a smirking, and a parley-wouing
as he begin'd wid her leddyship, niver was known
before upon arth; and divil may burn me if it wasn't
me own very two peepers that cotch'd him tipping her
the wink out of one eye. Och hon! if it wasn't
mesilf thin that was mad as a Kilkenny cat I shud like
to be tould who it was!
"Let me in farm you, Mounseer Maiter-di-dauns,"
said I, as purlite as iver ye seed, "that it's not the
gintaal thing at all at all, and not for the likes o" you
inny how, to be afther the oggling and a goggling at
her leddyship in that fashion," and jist wid that such
another squaze as it was I giv'd her flipper, all as
much as to say, "isn't it Sir Pathrick now, my jewel,
that'll be able to the proticting o' you, my darlint?"
and then there cum'd another squaze back, all by way


120 TALES.
of the answer. "Thrue for you. Sir Pathrick," it
said as plain as iver a squaze said in the world, "Thrue
for you, Sir Pathrick, mavourneen, and it's a proper
nate gintleman ye are — that's God's truth," and wid
that she opened her two beautiful peepers till I belaved
they wud ha com'd out of her hid althegither and in-
tirely, and she looked first as mad as a cat at Mounseer
Frog, and thin as smiling as all out o' doors at mesilf.
"Thin," says he, the willian, "Och hon! and a
wolly-wou, polly-wou," and thin wid that he shoved
up his two shoulders till the divil the bit of his hid was
to be diskivered, and thin he let down the two corners
of his purratv-trap, and thin not a haporth more of the
satisfaction could I git out o' the spalpeen.
Belave me, my jewel, it was Sir Pathrick that was
unrasonable mad thin, and the more by token that the
Frinchman kipt an wid his winking at the widdy; and
the widdy she kipt an wid the squazing of my flipper,
as much as to say, "At him again Sir Pathrick O'Grandi-
son, mavourneen;" so I jist ripped out with a big
oath, and says I,
"Ye little spalpeeny frog of a bog-throtting son of a
bloody noun!" — and jist thin what d'ye think it was
that her leddyship did? Troth she jumped up from
the sofy as if she was bit, and made off through the
door, while I turned my head round afther her, in a
complate bewilderment and botheration, and followed
her wid me two peepers. You percave I had a rason
of my own for knowing that she couldn't git down the
stairs althegither and entirely; for I knew very well
that I had hould of her hand, for divil the bit had I iver
lit it go. And says I,
"Isn't it the laste little bit of a mistake in the world
that ye've been afther the making, yer leddyship?


THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN. 121
Come back now, that's a darlint, and I'll give ye yur
flipper." But affshe wint down the stairs like a shot,
and then I turned round to the little Frinch furrenner.
Och hon! if it wasn't his spalpeeny little paw that I
had hould of in my own — why thin — thin it wasn't
— that's all.
And maybe it wasn't mesilf that jist died then out-
right wid the laffin, to behould the little chap when he
found out that it wasn't the widdy at all at all that he
had had hould of all the time, but only Sir Pathrick
O'Grandison. The ould divil himsilf niver behild
sich a long face as he pet an! As for Sir Pathrick
O'Grandison, Barronitt, it wasn't for the likes of his
riverence to be afther the minding of a thrifle of a mis-
take. Ye may jist say, though (for it's God's thruth)
that afore I lift hould of the flipper of the spalpeen,
(which was not till afther her leddyship's futmen had
kicked us both down the stairs), I gived it such a nate
little broth of a squaze, as made it all up into raspberry
jam.
"Wouly-wou," says he, "pully-wou," says he—
"Cot tam!"
And that's jist the thruth of the rason why he wears
his lift hand in a sling.


THE BUSINESS MAN.
[The Business Man (Peter Pendulum) Burton's Gen-
tleman's Magazine, February, 1840; B. J. II. 4.]
Method !a the soul of business. — Old Saying.
I am a business man. I am a methodical man.
Method is the thing, after all. But there are no people
I more heartily despise, than your eccentric fools who
prate about method without understanding it; attending
strictly to its letter, and violating its spirit. These fellows
are always doing the most out-of-the-way things in what
they call an orderly manner. Now here — I conceive
— is a positive paradox. True method appertains to
the ordinary and the obvious alone, and cannot be ap-
plied to the outre. What definite idea can a body
attach to such expressions as "methodical Jack o'
Dandy," or "a systematical Will o' the Wisp"?
My notions upon this head might not have been so
clear as they are, but for a fortunate accident which
happened to me when I was a very little boy. A
good-hearted old Irish nurse (whom I shall not forget in
my will) took me up one day by the heels, when I
was making more noise than was necessary, and, swing-
ing me round two or three times, d d my eyes for
"a skreeking little spalpeen," and then knocked my
head into a cocked hat against the bedpost. This, I
say, decided my fate and made my fortune. A bump


THE BUSINESS MAN. 123
arose at once on my sinciput, and turned out to be as
pretty an organ of order as one shall see on a summer's
day. Hence that positive appetite for system and reg-
ularity which has made me the distinguished man of
business that I am.
If there is anything on earth I hate, it is a genius.
Your geniuses are all arrant asses — the greater the
genius the greater the ass — and to this rule there is no
exception whatever. Especially, you cannot make a
man of business out of a genius, any more than money
out of a Jew, or the best nutmegs out of pineknots.
The creatures are always going off at a tangent into some
fantastic employment, or ridiculous speculation, entirely
at variance with the "fitness of things," and having
no business whatever to be considered as a business at
all. Thus you may tell these characters immediately
by the nature of their occupations. If you ever per-
ceive a man setting up as a merchant, or a manufacturer;
or going into the cotton or tobacco trade, or any of
those eccentric pursuits; or getting to be a dry-goods
dealer, or soap-boiler, or something of that kind; or
pretending to be a lawyer, or a blacksmith, or a physi-
cian — anything out of the usual way — you may set
him down at once as a genius, and then, according to
the rule-of-three, he's an ass.
Now I am not in any respect a genius, but a regular
business man. My Day-book and Ledger will evince
this in a minute. They are well kept, though I say it
myself; and, in my general habits of accuracy and
punctuality, I am not to be beat by a clock. — More-
over, my occupations have been always made to chime
in with the ordinary habitudes of.my fellowmen. Not
that I feel the least indebted, upon this score, to my
exceedingly weak-minded parents, who, beyond doubt,


124 TALES.
would have made an arrant genius of me at last, if my
guardian angel had not come, in good time, to the res-
cue. In biography the truth is everything, and in auto-
biography it is especially so—yet 1 scarcely hope to be
believed when I state, however solemnly, that my poor
father put me, when I was about fifteen years of age,
into the counting-house of what he termed "a respect-
able hardware and commission merchant doing a capital
bit of business!" A capital bit of fiddlestick! How-
ever, the consequence of this folly was, that in two or
three days, I had to be sent home to my button-headed
family in a high state of fever, and with a most violent
and dangerous pain in the sinciput, all round about my
organ of order. It was nearly a gone case with mi
then —just touch-and-go for six weeks — the physi.
cians giving me up and all that sort of thing. But,
although I suffered much, I was a thankful boy in thv
main. I was saved from being a "respectable hard-
ware and commission merchant, doing a capital bit of
business," and I felt grateful to the protuberance which
had been the means of my salvation, as well as to the
kind-hearted female who had originally put these mean*
within my reach.
The most of boys run away from home s>t ten or
twelve years of age, but I waited till I was sixteen. I
don't know that I should have gone, even, then, if I
had not happened to hear my old mother '.-alk about set-
ting me up on my own hook in the grocer/ way. The
grocery way! — only think of that! I resolved to be
off forthwith, and try and establish myself in some
decent occupation, without dancing attendance any
longer upon the caprices of these eccentric old people,
and running the risk of being made a genius of in the
end. In this project I succeeded perfectly well at the


THE BUSINESS MAN. 125
first effort, and by the time I was fairly eighteen, found
myself doing an extensive and profitable business in the
Tailor's Walking-Advertisement line.
I was enabled to discharge the onerous duties of this
profession, only by that rigid adherence to system which
formed the leading feature of my mind. A scrupulous
method characterised my actions, as well as my accounts.
In my case, it was method —not money — which made
the man: at least all of him that was not made by the
tailor whom I served. At nine, every morning, I
called upon that individual for the clothes of the day.
Ten o'clock found me in some fashionable promenade
or other place of public amusement. The precise regu-
larity with which I turned my handsome person about,
so as to bring successively into view every portion of
the suit upon my back, was the admiration of all the
knowing men in the trade. Noon never passed with-
out my bringing home a customer to the house of my
employers, Messieurs Cut and Comeagain. I say this
proudly, but with tears in my eyes — for the firm
proved themselves the basest of ingrates. The little
account about which we quarreled and finally parted,
cannot, in any item, be thought overcharged, by gen-
tlemen really conversant with the nature of the business.
Upon this point, however, I feel a degree of proud
satisfaction in permitting the reader to judge for himself.
My bill ran thus:
Mtsiri. Cut and Comeogoin, Merchant Taikrs.
To Peter Profii, Waiting Advertiser, Drs.
July 10. To promenade, as usual, and customer brought
home, $00 25
July 11. To do do do 25
July 12. To one ik, second class; damaged black cloth
sold for invisible green, 25


126 TALES.
Dt*.
July 13. To one lie, first class, extra quality and size;
recommending milled sattinet as broadcloth, 75
July 20. To purchasing bran new paper shirt collar or
dickey, to set off gray Petersham, 2
Aug. 15. To wearing double-padded bobtail frock, (ther-
mometer 106 in the shade,) 25
Aug. 16. Standing on one leg three hours, to show off
new-style strapped pants at 12J cts. per leg,
per hour, " 37J
Aug. 17. To promenade, as usual, and large customer
brought (fat man,) 50
Aug. 18. To do do (medium size,) 25
Aug. 19. To do do (small man and bad pay,) 6
** 95l
The item chiefly disputed in this bill was the very
moderate charge of two pennies for the dickey. Upon
my word of honor, this was not an unreasonable price
for that dickey. It was one of the cleanest and pret-
tiest little dickeys I ever saw; and I have good reason
to believe that it effected the sale of three Petershams.
The elder partner of the firm, however, would allow
me only one penny of the charge, and took it upon
himself to show in what manner four of the same sized
conveniences could be got out of a sheet of foolscap.
But it is needless to say that I stood upon the principle
of the thing. Business is business, and should be done
in a business way. There was no system whatever in
swindling me out of a penny — a clear fraud of fifty
per cent. — no method in any respect. I left, at once,
the employment of Messieurs Cut and Comeagain, and
set up in the Eye-Sore line by myself— one of the
most lucrative, respectable, and independent of the
ordinary occupations.
My strict integrity, economy, and rigorous business


THE BUSINESS MAN. 127
habits, here again came into play. I found myself
driving a flourishing trade, and soon became a marked
man upon 'Change. The truth is, I never dabbled in
flashy matters, but jogged on in the good old sober
routine of the calling — a calling in which I should,
no doubt, have remained to the present hour, but for a
little accident which happened to me in the prosecution
of one of the usual business operations of the profession.
Whenever a rich old hunks, or prodigal heir, or bank-
rupt corporation, gets into the notion of putting up a
palace, there is no such thing in the world as stopping
either of them, and this every intelligent person knows.
The fact in question is indeed the basis of the Eye-Sore
trade. As soon, therefore, as a building-project is
fairly afoot by one of these parties, we merchants secure
a nice corner of the lot in contemplation, or a prime
little situation just adjoining or right in front. This
done, we wait until the palace is half way up, and
then we pay some tasty architect to run us up an orna-
mental mud hovel, right against it; or a Down-East or
Dutch Pagoda, or a pig-sty, or an ingenious little bit
of fancy work, either Esquimau, Kickapoo, or Hotten-
tot. Of course, we can't afford to take these structures
down under a bonus of five hundred per cent, upon the
prime cost of our lot and plaster. Can we? I ask
the question. I ask it of business men. It would be
irrational to suppose that we can. And yet there was
a rascally corporation which asked me to do this very
thing — this very thing! I did not reply to their ab-
surd proposition, of course; but I felt it a duty to go
that same night, and lamp-black the whole of their palace.
For this the unreasonable villains clapped me into jail;
and the gentlemen of the Eye-Sore trade could not
well avoid cutting my connexion when I came out.


128 TALES.
The Assault and Battery business, into which I was
now forced to adventure for a livelihood, was somewhat
ill-adapted to the delicate nature of my constitution;
but I went to work in it with a good heart, and found
my account, here as heretofore, in those stern habits
of methodical accuracy which had been thumped into
me by that delightful old nurse — I would indeed be
the basest of men not to remember her well in my will.
By observing, as I say, the strictest system in all my
dealings, and keeping a well regulated set of books, I
was enabled to get over many serious difficulties, and,
in the end, to establish myself very decently in the
profession. The truth is, that few individuals, in any
line, did a snugger little business than I. I will just
copy a page or so out of my Day-Book; and this will
save me the necessity of blowing my own trumpet — a
contemptible practice, of which no high-minded man
will be guilty. Now, the Day-Book is a thing that
don't lie.
"Jan. 1.—New Year's day. Met Snap in the
street, groggy. Mem — he'll do. Met Gruff shortly
afterwards, blind drunk. Mem — he'll answer too.
Entered both gentlemen in my Ledger, and opened a
running account with each.
"Jan. 2.—Saw Snap at the Exchange, and went
up and trod on his toe. Doubled his fist, and knocked
me down. Good ! — got up again. Some trifling
difficulty with Bag, my attorney. I want the damages
at a thousand, but he says that, for so simple a knock-
down, we can't lay them at more than five hundred.
Mem — must get rid of Bag — no system at all.
"Jan. 3. — Went to the theatre, to look for Gruff.
Saw him sitting in a side box, in the second tier,
between a fat lady and a lean one. Quizzed the whole


THE BUSINESS MAN. 129
party through an opera glass, till I saw the fat lady
blush and whisper to G. Went round, then, into the
box, and put my nose within reach of his hand.
Wouldn't pull it — no go. Blew it, and tried again
— no go. Sat down then, and winked at the lean
lady, when I had the high satisfaction of rinding him
lift me up by the nape of the neck, and fling me over
into the pit. Neck dislocated, and right leg capitally
splintered. Went home in high glee, drank a bottle
of champagne, and booked the young man for five
thousand. Bag says it'll do.
"Feb. 15.—Compromised the case of Mr. Snap.
Amount entered in Journal — fifty cents — which see.
"Feb. 16. — Cast by that villain, Gruff, who made
me a present of five dollars. Costs of suit, four dollars
and twenty-five cents. Nett profit — see Journal —
seventy-five cents."
Now, here is a clear gain, in a very brief period, of
no less than one dollar and twenty-five cents — this is
in the mere cases of Snap and Gruff; and I solemnly
assure the reader that these extracts are taken at random
from my Day-Book.
It's an old saying, and a true one, however, that
money is nothing in comparison with health. I found
the exactions of the profession somewhat too much for
my delicate state of body; and, discovering, at last,
that I was knocked all out of shape, so that I didn't
know very well what to make of the matter, and so
that my friends, when they met me in the street,
couldn't tell that I was Peter Profit at all, it occurred
to me that the best expedient I could adopt, was to
alter my line of business. I turned my attention,
therefore, to Mud-Dabbling, and continued it for some
years.
vol. iv.—9


I30 TALES.
The worst of this occupation, is, that too many
people take a fancy to it, and the competition is in
consequence excessive. Every ignoramus of a fellow
who finds that he hasn't brains in sufficient quantity to
make his way as a walking advertiser, or an eye-sore-
prig, or a salt and batter man, thinks, of course, that
he'll answer very well as a dabbler of mud. But there
never was entertained a more erroneous idea than that
it requires no brains to mud-dabble. Especially, there
is nothing to be made in this way without method. I
did only a retail business myself, but my old habits of
system carried me swimmingly along. I selected my
street-crossing, in the first place, with great deliberation,
and I never put down a broom in any part of the town
but that. I took care, too, to have a nice little puddle
at hand, which I could get at in a minute. By these
means I got to be well known as a man to be trusted;
and this is one-half the battle, let me tell you, in trade.
Nobody ever failed to pitch me a copper, and got over
my crossing with a clean pair of pantaloons. And, as
my business habits, in this respect, were sufficiently un-
derstood, I never met with any attempt at imposition.
I wouldn't have put up with it, if I had. Never, im-
posing upon any one myself, I suffered no one to play
the possum with me. The frauds of the banks of course
I couldn't help. Their suspension put me to ruinous
inconvenience. These, however, are not individuals,
but corporations; and corporations, it is very well
known, have neither bodies to be kicked, nor souls to
be damned.
I was making money at this business, when, in an evil
moment, I was induced to merge it in the Cur-Spat-
tering— a somewhat analogous, but, by no means, so
respectable a profession. My location, to be sure, was


THE BUSINESS MAN. 131
an excellent one, being central, and I had capital black-
ing and brushes. My little dog, too, was quite fat and
up to all varieties of snuff. He had been in the trade
a long time, and, I may say, understood it. Our gen-
eral routine was this :— Pompey, having rolled himself
well in the mud, sat upon end at the shop door, until
he observed a dandy approaching in bright boots. He
then proceeded to meet him, and gave the Wellingtons
a rub or two with his wool. Then the dandy swore
very much, and looked about for a boot-black. There
I was, full in his view, with blacking and brushes. It
was only a minute's work, and then came a sixpence.
This did moderately well for a time ; — in fact, I was
not avaricious, but my dog was. I allowed him a third
of the profit, but he was advised to insist upon half.
This I couldn't stand — so we quarreled and parted.
I next tried my hand at the Organ-Grinding for a
while, and may say that I made out pretty well. It is
a plain, straightforward business, and requires no par-
ticular abilities. You can get a music-mill for a mere
song, and, to put it in order, you have but to open the
works, and give them three or four smart raps with a
hammer. It improves the tone of the thing, for busi-
ness purposes, more than you can imagine. This done,
you have only to stroll along, with the mill on your back,
until you see tan-bark in the street, and a knocker wrapped
up in buck skin. Then you stop and grind ; looking as
if you meant to stop and grind till doomsday. Presently
a window opens, and somebody pitches you a sixpence,
with a request to " Hush up and go on," &c. I am
aware that some grinders have actually afforded to " go
on" for this sum; but for my part, I found the neces-
sary outlay of capital too great, to permit of my "going
on" under a shilling.


132 TALES.
At this occupation I did a good deal; but, somehow,
I was not quite satisfied, and so finally abandoned it.
The truth is, I labored under the disadvantage of having
no monkey — and American streets are so muddy, and
a Democratic rabble is so obtrusive, and so full of dem-
nition mischievous little boys.
I was now out of employment for some months, but
at length succeeded, by dint of great interest, in pro-
curing a situation in the Sham-Post. The duties, here,
are simple, and not altogether unprofitable. For ex-
ample : — very early in the morning I had to make up
my packet of sham letters. Upon the inside of each
of these I had to scrawl a few lines — on any subject
which occurred to me as sufficiently mysterious — sign-
ing all the epistles Tom Dobson, or Bobby Tompkins,
or anything in that way. Having folded and sealed all,
and stamped them with sham postmarks — New Orleans,
Bengal, Botany Bay, or any other place a great way off
— I set out, forthwith, upon my daily route, as if in a
very great hurry. I always called at the big houses to
deliver the letters, and receive the postage. Nobody
hesitates at paying for a letter — especially for a double
one — people are such fools — and it was no trouble to
get round a corner before there was time to open the
epistles. The worst of this profession was, that I had
to walk so much and so fast; and so frequently to
vary my route. Besides, I had serious scruples of con-
science. I can't bear to hear innocent individuals abused
— and the way the whole town took to cursing Tom
Dobson and Bobby Tompkins, was really awful to hear.
I washed my hands of the matter in disgust.
My eighth and last speculation has been in the Cat-
Growing way. I have found this a most pleasant and
lucrative business, and, really, no trouble at all. The


THE BUSINESS MAN. 133
country, it is well known, has become infested with cats
— so much so of late, that a petition for relief, most
numerously and respectably signed, was brought before
the legislature at its last memorable session. The assem-
bly, at this epoch, was unusually well-informed, and,
having passed many other wise and wholesome enact-
ments, it crowned all with the Cat-Act. In its original
form, this law offered a premium for ax-heads, (four-
pence a-piece) but the Senate succeeded in amending
the main clause, so as to substitute the words "tails"
for '' heads.'' This amendment was so obviously proper,
that the house concurred in it nem. con.
As soon as the Governor had signed the bill, I in-
vested my whole estate in the purchase of Toms and
Tabbies. At first, I could only afford to feed them
upon mice (which are cheap) but they fulfilled the
Scriptural injunction at so marvellous a rate, that I at
length considered it my best policy to be liberal, and
so indulged them in oysters and turtle. Their tails, at
the legislative price, now bring me in a good income;
for I have discovered a way, in which, by means of
Macassar oil, I can force three crops in a year. It
delights me to find, too, that the animals soon get
accustomed to the thing, and would rather have the
appendages cut off than otherwise. I consider my-
self, therefore, a made man, and am bargaining for a
country seat on the Hudson.


THE MAN OF THE CROWD.
[Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, December, 1840;
1845. Text corrected by J. L. Graham copy.]
Ce grand malheur, de ne pouvoir etre «eul. — La Bbuysri.
It was well said of a certain German book that "es
lasst sich nicht lesen" —it does not permit itself to be
read. There are some secrets which do not permit
themselves to be told. Men die nightly in their beds,
wringing the hands of ghostly confessors, and looking
them piteously in the eyes — die with despair of heart
and convulsion of throat, on account of the hideousness
of mysteries which will not suffer themselves to be re-
vealed. Now and then, alas, the conscience of man
takes up a burthen so heavy in horror that it can be
thrown down only into the grave. And thus the es-
sence of all crime is undivulged.
Not long ago, about the closing in of an evening in
autumn, I sat at the large bow window of the D
Coffee-House in London. For some months I had
been ill in health, but was now convalescent, and, with
returning strength, found myself in one of those happy
moods which are so precisely the converse of ennui—
moods of the keenest appetency, when the film from the
mental vision departs — the d^Aus V vpi" *'*Vtv — an^
the intellect, electrified, surpasses as greatly its every-
day condition, as does the vivid yet candid reason of
Leibnitz, the mad and flimsy rhetoric of Gorgias.
134


THE MAN OF THE CROWD. 135
Merely to breathe was enjoyment; and I derived posi-
tive pleasure even from many of the legitimate sources
of pain. I felt a calm but inquisitive interest in every
thing. With a cigar in my mouth and a newspaper in
my lap, I had been amusing myself for the greater part
of the afternoon, now in poring over advertisements,
now in observing the promiscuous company in the room,
and now in peering through the smoky panes into the
street.
This latter is one of the principal thoroughfares of
the city, and had been very much crowded during the
whole day. But, as the darkness came on, the throng
momently increased; and, by the time the lamps were
well lighted, two dense and continuous tides of popula-
tion were rushing past the door. At this particular
period of the evening I had never before been in a simi-
lar situation, and the tumultuous sea of human heads
filled me, therefore, with a delicious novelty of emotion.
I gave up, at length, all care of things within the hotel,
and became absorbed in contemplation of the scene
without.
At first my observations took an abstract and general-
izing turn. I looked at the passengers in masses, and
thought of them in their aggregate relations. Soon,
however, I descended to details, and regarded with
minute interest the innumerable varieties of figure, dress,
air, gait, visage, and expression of countenance.
By far the greater number of those who went by had
a satisfied business-like demeanor, and seemed to be
thinking only of making their way through the press.
Their brows were knit, and their eyes rolled quickly;
when pushed against by fellow-wayfarers they evinced
no symptom of impatience, but adjusted their clothes
and hurried on. Others, still a numerous class, were


136 TALES.
restless in their movements, had flushed faces, and talked
and gesticulated to themselves, as if feeling in solitude
on account of the very denseness of the company around.
When impeded in their progress, these people suddenly
ceased muttering, but redoubled their gesticulations, and
awaited, with an absent and overdone smile upon the
lips, the course of the persons impeding them. If
jostled, they bowed profusely to the jostlers, and
appeared overwhelmed with confusion. — There was
nothing very distinctive about these two large classes
beyond what I have noted. Their habiliments belonged
to that order which is pointedly termed the decent.
They were undoubtedly noblemen, merchants, attor-
neys, tradesmen, stock-jobbers — the Eupatrids and the
common-places of society — men of leisure and men
actively engaged in affairs of their own — conducting
business upon their own responsibility. They did not
greatly excite my attention.
The tribe of clerks was an obvious one; and here I
discerned two remarkable divisions. There were the
junior clerks of flash houses — young gentlemen with
tight coats, bright boots, well-oiled hair, and supercili-
ous lips. Setting aside a certain dapperness of carriage,
which may be termed deskism for want of a better word,
the manner of these persons seemed to me an exact fac-
simile of what had been the perfection of bon ton about
twelve or eighteen months before. They wore the
cast-off graces of the gentry ;— and this, I believe,
involves the best definition of the class.
The division of the upper clerks of staunch firms,
or of the "steady old fellows," it was not possible
to mistake. These were known by their coats and
pantaloons of black or brown, made to sit comfortably,
with white cravats and waistcoats, broad solid-looking


THE MAN OF THE CROWD. 137
shoes, and thick hose or gaiters. — They had all slightly
bald heads, from which the right ears, long used to pen-
holding, had an odd habit of standing oft' on end. I
observed that they always removed or settled their hats
with both hands, and wore watches, with short gold
chains of a substantial and ancient pattern. Theirs was
the affectation of respectability ; — if indeed there be an
affectation so honorable.
There were many individuals of dashing appearance,
whom I easily understood as belonging to the race of
swell pick-pockets, with which all great cities are in-
fested. I watched these gentry with much inquisitive-
ness, and found it difficult to imagine how they should
ever be mistaken for gentlemen by gentlemen themselves.
Their voluminousness of wristband, with an air of ex-
cessive frankness, should betray them at once.
The gamblers, of whom I descried not a few, were
still more easily recognisable. They wore every variety
of dress, from that of the desperate thimble-rig bully,
with velvet waistcoat, fancy neckerchief, gilt chains, and
filagreed buttons, to that of the scrupulously inornate
clergyman than which nothing could be less liable to
suspicion. Still all were distinguished by a certain
sodden swarthiness of complexion, a filmy dimness of
eye, and pallor and compression of lip. There were
two other traits, moreover, by which I could always
detect them ; — a guarded lowness of tone in conversa-
tion, and a more than ordinary extension of the thumb
in a direction at right angles with the fingers. — Very
often, in company with these sharpers, I observed an
order of men somewhat different in habits, but still
birds of a kindred feather. They may be defined as
the gentlemen who live by their wits. They seem to
prey upon the public in two battalions — that of the


138 TALES.
dandies and that of the military men. Of the first
grade the leading features are long locks and smiles;
of the second frogged coats and frowns.
Descending in the scale of what is termed gentility,
I found darker and deeper themes for speculation. I
saw Jew pedlars, with hawk eyes flashing from coun-
tenances whose every other feature wore only an ex-
pression of abject humility; sturdy professional street
beggars scowling upon mendicants of a better stamp,
whom despair alone had driven forth into the night for
charity; feeble and ghastly invalids, upon whom death
had placed a sure hand, and who sidled and tottered
through the mob, looking every one beseechingly in the
face, as if in search of some chance consolation, some
lost hope; modest young girls returning from long and
late labor to a cheerless home, and shrinking more tear-
fully than indignantly from the glances of ruffians, whose
direct contact, even, could not be avoided; women of
the town of all kinds and of all ages —- the unequivocal
beauty in the prime of her womanhood, putting one in
mind of the statue in Lucian, with the surface of Parian
marble, and the interior filled with filth — the loath-
some and utterly lost leper in rags — the wrinkled,
bejewelled and paint-begrimed beldame, making a last
effort at youth — the mere child of immature form, yet,
from long association, an adept in the dreadful coquetries
of her trade, and burning with a rabid ambition to be
ranked the equal of her elders in vice; drunkards innum-
erable and indescribable — some in shreds and patches,
reeling, inarticulate, with bruised visage and lack-lustre
eyes — some in whole although filthy garments, with a
slightly unsteady swagger, thick sensual lips, and hearty-
looking rubicund faces — others clothed in materials
which had once been good, and which even now were


THE MAN OF THE CROWD. 139
scrupulously well brushed — men who walked with a
more than naturally firm and springy step, but whose
countenances were fearfully pale, whose eyes hideously
wild and red, and who clutched with quivering fingers,
as they strode through the crowd, at every object which
came within their reach; beside these, pie-men, por-
ters, coal-heavers, sweeps; organ-grinders, monkey-
exhibiters and ballad mongers, those who vended with
those who sang; ragged artizans and exhausted laborers
of every description, and all full of a noisy and inordi-
nate vivacity which jarred discordantly upon the ear,
and gave an aching sensation to the eye.
As the night deepened, so deepened to me the interest
of the scene; for not only did the general character of
the crowd materially alter (its gentler features retiring
in the gradual withdrawal of the more orderly portion
of the people, and its harsher ones coming out into
bolder relief, as the late hour brought forth every species
of infamy from its den,) but the rays of the gas-lamps,
feeble at first in their struggle with the dying day, had
now at length gained ascendancy, and threw over every
thing a fitful and garish lustre. All was dark yet splen-
did — as that ebony to which has been likened the style
of Tertullian.
The wild effects of the light enchained me to an ex-
amination of individual faces; and although the rapidity
with which the world of light flitted before the window,
prevented me from casting more than a glance upon
each visage, still it seemed that, in my then peculiar
mental state, I could frequently read, even in that brief
interval of a glance, the history of long years.
With my brow to the glass, I was thus occupied in
scrutinizing the mob, when suddenly there came into
view a countenance (that of a decrepid old man, some


140 TALES.
sixty-five or seventy years of age,)—a countenance
which at once arrested and absorbed my whole atten-
tion, on account of the absolute idiosyncrasy of its
expression. Any thing even remotely resembling that
expression I had never seen before. I well remember
that my first thought, upon beholding it, was that
Retszch, had he viewed it, would have greatly preferred
it to his own pictural incarnations of the fiend. As I
endeavored, during the brief minute of my original sur-
vey, to form some analysis of the meaning conveyed,
there arose confusedly and paradoxically within my
mind, the ideas of vast mental power, of caution, of
penuriousness, of avarice, of coolness, of malice, of
blood-thirstiness, of triumph, of merriment, of excessive
terror, of intense — of extreme despair. I felt singu-
larly aroused, startled, fascinated. "How wild a
history," I said to myself, "is written within that
bosom!" Then came a craving desire to keep the
man in view — to know more of him. Hurriedly
putting on an overcoat, and seizing my hat and cane, I
made my way into the street, and pushed through the
crowd in the direction which I had seen him take; for
he had already disappeared. With some little difficulty
I at length came within sight of him, approached, and
followed him closely, yet cautiously, so as not to
attract his attention.
I had now a good opportunity of examining his
person. He was short in stature, very thin, and ap-
parently very feeble. His clothes, generally, were
filthy and ragged; but as he came, now and then,
within the strong glare of a lamp, I perceived that his
linen, although dirty, was of beautiful texture; and my
vision deceived me, or, through a rent in a closely-
buttoned and evidently second-handed roquelaire which


THE MAN OF THE CROWD. 141
enveloped him, I caught a glimpse both of a diamond
and of a dagger. These observations heightened my
curiosity, and I resolved to follow the stranger whither-
soever he should go.
It was now fully night-fall, and a thick humid fog
hung over the city, soon ending in a settled and heavy
rain. This change of weather had an odd effect upon
the crowd, the whole of which was at once put into
new commotion, and overshadowed by a world of
umbrellas. The waver, the jostle, and the hum in-
creased in a tenfold degree. For my own part I did
not much regard the rain — the lurking of an old fever
in my system rendering the moisture somewhat too
dangerously pleasant. Tying a handkerchief about my
mouth, I kept on. For half an hour the old man held
his way with difficulty along the great thoroughfare;
and I here walked close at his elbow through fear of
losing sight of him. Never once turning his head to
look back, he did not observe me. By and bye he
passed into a cross street, which, although densely filled
with people, was not quite so much thronged as the
main one he had quitted. Here a change in his de-
meanor became evident. He walked more slowly and
with less object than before — more hesitatingly. He
crossed and re-crossed the way repeatedly without ap-
parent aim; and the press was still so thick, that, at
every such movement, I was obliged to follow him
closely. The street was a narrow and long one, and
his course lay within it for nearly an hour, during
which the passengers had gradually diminished to about
that number which is ordinarily seen at noon in Broad-
way near the Park — so vast a difference is there
between a London populace and that of the most fre-
quented American city. A second turn brought us into


142 TALES.
a square, brilliantly lighted, and overflowing with life.
The old manner of the stranger re-appeared. His chin
fell upon his breast, while his eyes rolled wildly from
under his knit brows, in every direction, upon those
who hemmed him in. He urged his way steadily and
perseveringly. I was surprised, however, to find, upon
his having made the circuit of the square, that he turned
and retraced his steps. Still more was I astonished to
see him repeat the same walk several times — once
nearly detecting me as he came round with a sudden
movement.
In this exercise he spent another hour, at the end of
which we met with far less interruption from passengers
than at first. The rain fell fast; the air grew cool;
and the people were retiring to their homes. With a
gesture of impatience, the wanderer passed into a by-
street comparatively deserted. Down this, some quar-
ter of a mile long, he rushed with an activity I could
not have dreamed of seeing in one so aged, and which
put me to much trouble in pursuit. A few minutes
brought us to a large and busy bazaar, with the locali-
ties of which the stranger appeared well acquainted, and
where his original demeanor again became apparent, as
he forced his way to and fro, without aim, among the
host of buyers and sellers.
During the hour and a half, or thereabouts, which
we passed in this place, it required much caution on my
part to keep him within reach without attracting his
observation. Luckily I wore a pair of caoutchouc
over-shoes, and could move about in perfect silence.
At no moment did he see that I watched him. He
entered shop after shop, priced nothing, spoke no word,
and looked at all objects with a wild and vacant stare.
I was now utterly amazed at his behaviour, and firmly


THE MAN OF THE CROWD. 143
resolved that we should not part until I had satisfied
myself in some measure respecting him.
A loud-toned clock struck eleven, and the company
were fast deserting the bazaar. A shop-keeper, in put-
ting up a shutter, jostled the old man, and at the instant
I saw a strong shudder come over his frame. He hurried
into the street, looked anxiously around him for an in-
stant, and then ran with incredible swiftness through
many crooked and people-less lanes, until we emerged once
more upon the great thoroughfare whence we had started
— the street of the D Hotel. It no longer wore,
however, the same aspect. It was still brilliant with
gas; but the rain fell fiercely, and there were few per-
sons to be seen. The stranger grew pale. He walked
moodily some paces up the once populous avenue, then,
with a heavy sigh, turned in the direction of the river,
and, plunging through a great variety of devious ways,
came out, at length, in view of one of the principal
theatres. It was about being closed, and the audience
were thronging from the doors. I saw the old man
gasp as if for breath while he threw himself amid the
crowd; but I thought that the intense agony of his
countenance had, in some measure, abated. His head
again fell upon his breast; he appeared as I had seen
him at first. I observed that he now took the course
in which had gone the greater number of the audience
— but, upon the whole, I was at a loss to comprehend
the waywardness of his actions.
As he proceeded, the company grew more scattered,
and his old uneasiness and vacillation were resumed.
For some time he followed closely a party of some ten
or twelve roisterers; but from this number one by one
dropped off, until three only remained together, in a
narrow and gloomy lane little frequented. The stranger


144 TALES.
paused, and, for a moment, seemed lost in thought;
then, with every mark of agitation, pursued rapidly a
route which brought us to the verge of the city, amid
regions very different from those we had hitherto trav-
ersed. It was the most noisome quarter of London,
where everything wore the worst impress of the most
deplorable poverty, and of the most desperate crime.
By the dim light of an accidental lamp, tall, antique,
worm-eaten, wooden tenements were seen tottering to
their fall, in directions so many and capricious that scarce
the semblance of a passage was discernible between
them. The paving-stones lay at random, displaced
from their beds by the rankly growing grass. Horrible
filth festered in the dammed-up gutters. The whole
atmosphere teemed with desolation. Yet, as we pro-
ceeded, the sounds of human life revived by sure de-
grees, and at length large bands of the most abandoned
of a London populace were seen reeling to and fro.
The spirits of the old man again flickered up, as a lamp
which is near its death-hour. Once more he strode
onward with elastic tread. Suddenly a corner was
turned, a blaze of light burst upon our sight, and we
stood before one of the huge suburban temples of Intem-
perance — one of the palaces of the fiend, Gin.
It was now nearly day-break; but a number of
wretched inebriates still pressed in and out of the flaunt-
ing entrance. With a half shriek of joy the old man
forced a passage within, resumed at once his original
bearing, and stalked backward and forward, without
apparent object, among the throng. He had not been
thus long occupied, however, before a rush to the doori
gave token that the host was closing them for the night.
It was something even more intense than despair that I
then observed upon the countenance of the singular


THE MAN OF THE CROWD. 145
being whom I had watched so pertinaciously. Yet he
did not hesitate in his career, but, with a mad energy,
retraced his steps at once, to the heart of the mighty
London. Long and swiftly he fled, while I followed
him in the wildest amazement, resolute not to abandon
a scrutiny in which I now felt an interest all-absorbing.
The sun arose while we proceeded, and, when we had
once again reached that most thronged mart of the pop-
ulous town, the street of the D Hotel, it presented
an appearance of human bustle and activity scarcely in-
ferior to what I had seen on the evening before. And
here, long, amid the momently increasing confusion,
did I persist in my pursuit of the stranger. But, as
usual, he walked to and fro, and during the day did not
pass from out the turmoil of that street. And, as the
shades of the second evening came on, I grew wearied
unto death, and, stopping fully in front of the wanderer,
gazed at him steadfastly in the face. He noticed me
not, but resumed his solemn walk, while I, ceasing to
follow, remained absorbed in contemplation. "This
old man," I said at length, "is the type and the gen-
ius of deep crime. He refuses to be alone. He is the
man of the crowd. It will be in vain to follow; for I
shall learn no more of him, nor of his deeds. The
worst heart of the world is a grosser book than the
'Hortulus Animae,' 1 and perhaps it is but one of the
great mercies of God that es lasst sich nicbt lesen.''
1 The Hortulus Anxmoe cum Oratiunculis Aliquibus Superadds
tit [of Griininger]. — Poe wrote the title aa here given. — Ed.


THE MURDERS IN THE
RUE MORGUE.
[Graham's Magazine, April, 1841; 1843; 1845.—
Text corrected by J. L. Graham copy.]
What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when
he hid himself among women, although puzzling questions arc not
beyond all conjecture. — Sir Thomas Browne, Urn-Burial.
The mental features discoursed of as the analytical,
are, in themselves, but little susceptible of analysis.
We appreciate them only in their effects. We know
of them, among other things, that they are always to
their possessor, when inordinately possessed, a source
of the liveliest enjoyment. As the strong man exults
in his physical ability, delighting in such exercises as
call his muscles into action, so glories the analyst in that
moral activity which disentangles. He derives pleasure
from even the most trivial occupations bringing his tal-
ents into play. He is fond of enigmas, of conundrums,
of hieroglyphics; exhibiting in his solutions of each a
degree of acumen which appears to the ordinary appre-
hension preternatural. His results, brought about by
the very soul and essence of method, have, in truth,
the whole air of intuition. The faculty of re-solution
is possibly much invigorated by mathematical study, and
especially by that highest branch of it which, unjustly,
and merely on account of its retrograde operations, has
been called, as if par excellence, analysis. Yet to cal-
146


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 147
culate is not in itself to analyze. A chess-player, for
example, does the one without effort at the other. It
follows that the game of chess, in its effects upon men-
tal character, is greatly misunderstood. I am not now
writing a treatise, but simply prefacing a somewhat
peculiar narrative by observations very much at random;
I will, therefore, take occasion to assert that the higher
powers of the reflective intellect are more decidedly
and more usefully tasked by the unostentatious game of
draughts than by all the elaborate frivolity of chess. In
this latter, where the pieces have different and bizarre
motions, with various and variable values, what is only
complex is mistaken (a not unusual error) for what is
profound. The attention is here called powerfully into
play. If it flag for an instant, an oversight is committed,
resulting in injury or defeat. The possible moves being
not only manifold but involute, the chances of such over-
sights are multiplied; and in nine cases out of ten it is
the more concentrative rather than the more acute player
who conquers. In draughts, on the contrary, where the
moves are unique and have but little variation, the prob-
abilities of inadvertence are diminished, and the mere
attention being left comparatively unemployed, what
advantages are obtained by either party are obtained by
superior acumen. To be less abstract— Let us suppose
a game of draughts where the pieces are reduced to
four kings, and where, of course, no oversight is to be
expected. It is obvious that here the victory can be
decided (the players being at all equal) only by some
recherebe movement, the result of some strong exertion
of the intellect. Deprived of ordinary resources, the
analyst throws himself into the spirit of his opponent,
identifies himself therewith, and not unfrequently sees
thus, at a glance, the sole methods (sometimes indeed


I48 TALES.
absurdly simple ones) by which he may seduce into
error or hurry into miscalculation.
Whist has long been noted for its influence upon
what is termed the calculating power; and men of the
highest order of intellect have been known to take an
apparently unaccountable delight in it, while eschewing
chess as frivolous. Beyond doubt there is nothing of a
similar nature so greatly tasking the faculty of analysis.
The best chess-player in Christendom may be little more
than the best player of chess; but proficiency in whist
implies capacity for success in all these more important
undertakings where mind struggles with mind. When
I say proficiency, I mean that perfection in the game
which includes a comprehension of all the sources
whence legitimate advantage may be derived. These
are not only manifold but multiform, and lie frequently
among recesses of thought altogether inaccessible to the
ordinary understanding. To observe attentively is to
remember distinctly; and, so far, the concentrative
chess-player will do very well at whist; while the rules
of Hoyle (themselves based upon the mere mechanism
of the game) are sufficiently and generally comprehen-
sible. Thus to have a retentive memory, and to pro-
ceed by "the book," are points commonly regarded
as the sum total of good playing. But it is in matters
beyond the limits of mere rule that the skill of the
analyst is evinced. He makes, in silence, a host of
observations and inferences. So, perhaps, do his com-
panions; and the difference in the extent of the infor-
mation obtained, lies not so much in the validity of the
inference as in the quality of the observation. The
necessary knowledge is that of what to observe. Our
player confines himself not at all; nor, because the
game is the object, does he reject deductions from things


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 149
external to the game. He examines the countenance
of his partner, comparing it carefully with that of each
of his opponents. He considers the mode of assorting
the cards in each hand ; often counting trump by trump,
and honor by honor, through the glances bestowed by
their holders upon each. He notes every variation of
face as the play progresses, gathering a fund of thought
from the differences in the expression of certainty, of
surprise, of triumph, or chagrin. From the manner of
gathering up a trick he judges whether the person taking
it can make another in the suit. He recognizes what
is played through feint, by the air with which it is
thrown upon the table. A casual or inadvertent word;
the accidental dropping or turning of a card, with the
accompanying anxiety or carelessness in regard to its
concealment; the counting of the tricks, with the order
of their arrangement; embarrassment, hesitation, eager-
ness or trepidation — all afford, to his apparently intui-
tive perception, indications of the true state of affairs.
The first two or three rounds having been played, he
is in full possession of the contents of each hand, and
thenceforward puts down his cards with as absolute a
precision of purpose as if the rest of the party had
turned outward the faces of their own.
The analytical power should not be confounded with
simple ingenuity; for while the analyst is necessarily
ingenious, the ingenious man is often remarkably incap-
able of analysis. The constructive or combining power,
by which ingenuity is usually manifested, and to which
the phrenologists (I believe erroneously) have assigned
a separate organ, supposing it a primitive faculty, has
been so frequently seen in those whose intellect bordered
otherwise upon idiocy, as to have attracted general ob-
servation among writers on morals. Between ingenuity


150 TALES.
and the analytic ability there exists a difference far
greater, indeed, than that between the fancy and the
imagination, but of a character very strictly analogous.
It will be found, in fact, that the ingenious are always
fanciful, and the truly imaginative never otherwise than
analytic.
The narrative which follows will appear to the reader
somewhat in the light of a commentary upon the propo-
sitions just advanced.
Residing in Paris during the spring and part of the
summer of 18—, I there became acquainted with a
Monsieur C. Auguste Dupin. This young gentleman
was of an excellent — indeed of an illustrious family,
but, by a variety of untoward events, had been reduced
to such poverty that the energy of his character suc-
cumbed beneath it, and he ceased to bestir himself in
the world, or to care for the retrieval of his fortunes.
By courtesy of his creditors, there still remained in his
possession a small remnant of his patrimony; and, upon
the income arising from this, he managed, by means of
a rigorous economy, to procure the necessaries of life,
without troubling himself about its superfluities. Books,
indeed, were his sole luxuries, and in Paris these are
easily obtained.
Our first meeting was at an obscure library in the
Rue Montmartre, where the accident of our both being
in search of the same very rare and very remarkable
volume, brought us into closer communion. We saw
each other again and again. I was deeply interested in
the little family history which he detailed to me with all
that candor which a Frenchman indulges whenever mere
self is the theme. I was astonished, too, at the vast
extent of his reading; and, above all, I felt my soul
enkindled within me by the wild fervor, and the vivid


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 151
freshness of his imagination. Seeking in Paris the ob-
jects I then sought, I felt that the society of such a man
would be to me a treasure beyond price; and this feel-
ing I frankly confided to him. It was at length arranged
that we should live together during my stay in the city;
and as my worldly circumstances were somewhat less
embarrassed than his own, I was permitted to be at the
expense of renting, and furnishing in a style which suited
the rather fantastic gloom of our common temper, a
time-eaten and grotesque mansion, long deserted through
superstitions into which we did not inquire, and totter-
ing to its fall in a retired and desolate portion of the
Faubourg St. Germain.
Had the routine of our life at this place been known
to the world, we should have been regarded as madmen
— although, perhaps, as madmen of a harmless nature.
Our seclusion was perfect. We admitted no visitors.
Indeed the locality of our retirement had been carefully
kept a secret from my own former associates; and it
had been many years since Dupin had ceased to know
or be known in Paris. We existed within ourselves
alone.
It was a freak of fancy in my friend (for what else
shall I call it ?) to be enamored of the Night for her own
sake; and into this bizarrerie, as into all his others, I
quietly fell; giving myself up to his wild whims with
a perfect abandon. The sable divinity would not her-
self dwell with us always; but we could counterfeit
her presence. At the first dawn of the morning we
closed all the massy shutters of our old building; lighted
a couple of tapers which, strongly perfumed, threw out
only the ghastliest and feeblest of rays. By the aid of
these we then busied our souls in dreams — reading,
writing, or conversing, until warned by the clock of the


152 TALES.
advent of the true Darkness. Then we sallied forth
into the streets, arm and arm, continuing the topics of
the day, or roaming far and wide until a late hour, seek-
ing, amid the wild lights and shadows of the populous
city, that infinity of mental excitement which quiet ob-
servation can afford.
At such times I could not help remarking and admir-
ing (although from his rich ideality I had been prepared
to expect it) a peculiar analytic ability in Dupin. He
seemed, too, to take an eager delight in its exercise —
if not exactly in its display — and did not hesitate to
confess the pleasure thus derived. He boasted to me,
with a low chuckling laugh, that most men, in respect
to himself, wore windows in their bosoms, and was
wont to follow up such assertions by direct and very
startling proofs of his intimate knowledge of my own.
His manner at these moments was frigid and abstract;
his eyes were vacant in expression; while his voice,
usually a rich tenor, rose into a treble which would
have sounded petulantly but for the deliberateness and
entire distinctness of the enunciation. Observing him
in these moods, I often dwelt meditatively upon the
old philosophy of the Bi-Part Soul, and amused myself
with the fancy of a double Dupin — the creative and
the resolvent.
Let it not be supposed, from what I have just said,
that I am detailing any mystery, or penning any ro-
mance. What I have described in the Frenchman,
was merely the result of an excited, or perhaps of a
diseased intelligence. But of the character of his re-
marks at the periods in question an example will best
convey the idea.
We were strolling one night down a long dirty
street, in the vicinity of the Palais Royal. Being


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 153
both, apparently, occupied with thought, neither of
us had spoken a syllable for fifteen minutes at least.
All at once Dupin broke forth with these words : —
"He is a very little fellow, that's true, and would
do better for the Theatre des Varietis.''
"There can be no doubt of that," I replied unwit-
tingly, and not at first observing (so much had I been
absorbed in reflection) the extraordinary manner in
which the speaker had chimed in with my meditations.
In an instant afterward I recollected myself, and my
astonishment was profound.
"Dupin," said I, gravely, "this is beyond my
comprehension. I do not hesitate to say that I am
amazed, and can scarcely credit my senses. How
was it possible you should know I was thinking of
?" Here I paused, to ascertain beyond a
doubt whether he really knew of whom I thought.
"of Chantilly," said he, "why do you
pause? You were remarking to yourself that his di-
minutive figure unfitted him for tragedy."
This was precisely what had formed the subject of
my reflections. Chantilly was a quondam cobbler of
the Rue St. Denis, who, becoming stage-mad, had
attempted the rile of Xerxes, in Crebillon's tragedy
so called, and been notoriously Pasquinaded for his
pains.
"Tell me, for Heaven's sake," I exclaimed, "the
method — if method there is — by which you have
been enabled to fathom my soul in this matter." In
fact I was even more startled than I would have been
willing to express.
"It was the fruiterer," replied my friend, "who
brought you to the conclusion that the mender of soles
was not of sufficient height for Xerxes et id genus omne."


154 TALES.
"The fruiterer! — you astonish me — I know no
fruiterer whomsoever."
"The man who ran up against you as we entered
the street — it may have been fifteen minutes ago.''
I now remembered that, in fact, a fruiterer, carry-
ing upon his head a large basket of apples, had nearly
thrown me down, by accident, as we passed from the
Rue C into the thoroughfare where we stood;
but what this had to do with Chantilly I could not
possibly understand.
There was not a particle of charUtanerie about
Dupin. "I will explain," he said, "and that you
may comprehend all clearly, we will first retrace the
course of your meditations, from the moment in which
I spoke to you until that of the rencontre with the
fruiterer in question. The larger links of the chain
run thus — Chantilly, Orion, Dr. Nichols, Epicurus,
Stereotomy, the street stones, the fruiterer."
There are few persons who have not, at some
period of their lives, amused themselves in retracing
the steps by which particular conclusions of their own
minds have been attained. The occupation is often
fall of interest; and he who attempts it for the first
time is astonished by the apparently illimitable distance
and incoherence between the starting-point and the
goal. What, then, must have been my amazement
when I heard the Frenchman speak what he had just
spoken, and when I could not help acknowledging
that he had spoken the truth. He continued:
"We had been talking of horses, if I remember
aright, just before leaving the Rue C . This
was the last subject we discussed. As we crossed into
this street, a fruiterer, with a large basket upon his
head, brushing quickly past us, thrust you upon a pile


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 155
of paving-stones collected at a spot where the cause-
way is undergoing repair. You stepped upon one of
the loose fragments, slipped, slightly strained your
ankle, appeared vexed or sulky, muttered a few words,
turned to look at the pile, and then proceeded in silence.
I was not particularly attentive to what you did; but
observation has become with me, of late, a species of
necessity.
"You kept your eyes upon the ground — glancing,
with a petulant expression, at the holes and ruts in the
pavement, (so that I saw you were still thinking of the
stones,) until we reached the little alley called Lamar -
tine, which has been paved, by way of experiment,
with the overlapping and riveted blocks. Here your
countenance brightened up, and, perceiving your lips
move, I could not doubt that you murmured the word
'stereotomy,' a term very affectedly applied to this
species of pavement. I knew that you could not say
to yourself ' stereotomy ' without being brought to think
of atomies, and thus of the theories of Epicurus; and
since, when we discussed this subject not very long ago,
I mentioned to you how singularly, yet with how little
notice, the vague guesses of that noble Greek had met
with confirmation in the late nebular cosmogony, I felt
that you could not avoid casting your eyes upward to
the great nebula in Orion, and I certainly expected that
you would do so. You did look up; and I was now
assured that 1 had correctly followed your steps. But
in that bitter tirade upon Chantilly, which appeared in
yesterday's ' Musee,' the satirist, making some disgrace-
ful allusions to the cobbler's change of name upon as-
suming the buskin, quoted a Latin line about which we
have often conversed. 1 mean the line
Perdidit antiquum litera prima solium.


1 $6 TALES.
I had told you that this was in reference to Orion, for-
merly written Urion ; and, from certain pungencies con-
nected with this explanation, I was aware that you could
not have forgotten it. It was clear, therefore, that
vou would not fail to combine the two ideas of Orion
and Chantilly. That you did combine them I saw by
the character of the smile which passed over your lips.
You thought of the poor cobbler's immolation. So
far, you had been stooping in your gait; but now I
saw you draw yourself up to your full height. I was
then sure that you reflected upon the diminutive figure of
Chantilly. At this point I interrupted your medita-
tions to remark that as, in fact, he was a very little
fellow — that Chantilly — he would do better at the
Theatre des Variitis."
Not long after this, we were looking over an even-
ing edition of the " Gazette des Tribunaux," when
the following paragraphs arrested our attention.
"Extraordinary Murders. —This morning, about
three o'clock, the inhabitants of the Quartier St. Roch
were aroused from sleep by a succession of terrific
shrieks, issuing, apparently, from the fourth story of a
house in the Rue Morgue, known to be in the sole
occupancy of one Madame L'Espanaye, and her daugh-
ter, Mademoiselle Camille L'Espanaye. After some
delay, occasioned by a fruitless attempt to procure ad-
mission in the usual manner, the gateway was broken
in with a crowbar, and eight or ten of the neighbors
entered, accompanied by two gendarmes. By this time
the cries had ceased; but, as the party rushed up the
first flight of stairs, two or more rough voices, in angry
contention, were distinguished, and seemed to proceed
from the upper part of the house. As the second land-
ing was reached, these sounds, also, had ceased, and


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 157
everything remained perfectly quiet. The party spread
themselves, and hurried from room to room. Upon
arriving at a large back chamber in the fourth story,
(the door of which, being found locked, with the key
inside, was forced open,) a spectacle presented itself
which struck every one present not less with horror
than with astonishment.
"The apartment was in the wildest disorder — the
furniture broken and thrown about in all directions.
There was only one bedstead; and from this the bed
had been removed, and thrown into the middle of the
floor. On a chair lay a razor, besmeared with blood.
On the hearth were two or three long and thick tresses
of grey human hair, also dabbled in blood, and seem-
ing to have been pulled out by the roots. Upon the
floor were found four Napoleons, an ear-ring of topaz,
three large silver spoons, three smaller of metal a" Al-
ger, and two bags, containing nearly four thousand
francs in gold. The drawers of a bureau, which stood
in one corner, were open, and had been, apparently,
rifled, although many articles still remained in them.
A small iron safe was discovered under the bed (not
under the bedstead). It was open, with the key still
in the door. It had no contents beyond a few old
letters, and other papers of little consequence.
"Of Madame L'Espanaye no traces were here
seen; but an unusual quantity of soot being observed
in the fire-place, a search was made in the chimney,
and (horrible to relate !) the corpse of the daughter,
head downward, was dragged therefrom; it having
been thus forced up the narrow aperture for a consid-
erable distance. The body was quite warm. Upon
examining it, many excoriations were perceived, no
doubt occasioned by the violence with which it had


158 TALES.
been thrust up and disengaged. Upon the face were
many severe scratches, and, upon the throat, dark
bruises, and deep indentations of finger nails, as if the
deceased had been throttled to death.
"After a thorough investigation of every portion of
the house, without farther discovery, the party made
its way into a small paved yard in the rear of the
building, where lay the corpse of the old lady, with
her throat so entirely cut that, upon an attempt to raise
her, the head fell off. The body, as well as the head,
was fearfully mutilated — the former so much so as
scarcely to retain any semblance of humanity.
"To this horrible mystery there is not as yet, we
believe, the slightest clew."
The next day's paper had these additional particulars.
"The Tragedy in the Rue Morgue. Many indi-
viduals have been examined in relation to this most
extraordinary and frightful affair." [The word 'af-
faire' has not yet, in France, that levity of import
which it conveys with us,] "but nothing whatever has
transpired to throw light upon it. We give below all
the material testimony elicited.
"Pauline Dubourg, laundress, deposes that she has
known both the deceased for three years, having washed
for them during that period. The old lady and her
daughter seemed on good terms — very affectionate tow-
ards each other. They were excellent pay. Could
not speak in regard to their mode or means of living.
Believed that Madame L. told fortunes for a living.
Was reputed to have money put by. Never met any
persons in the house when she called for the clothes or
took them home. Was sure that they had no servant
in employ. There appeared to be no furniture in any
part of the building except in the fourth story.


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 159
'' Pierre Moreau, tobacconist, deposes that he has
been in the habit of selling small quantities of tobacco
and snuff to Madame L' Espanaye for nearly four years.
Was born in the neighborhood, and has always resided
there. The deceased and her daughter had occupied
the house in which the corpses were found, for more
than six years. It was formerly occupied by a jeweller,
who under-let the upper rooms to various persons. The
house was the property of Madame L. She became
dissatisfied with the abuse of the premises by her tenant,
and moved into them herself, refusing to let any por-
tion. The old lady was childish. Witness had seen
the daughter some five or six times during the six years.
The two lived an exceedingly retired life — were re-
puted to have money. Had heard it said among the
neighbors that Madame L. told fortunes — did not
believe it. Had never seen any person enter the door
except the old lady and her daughter, a porter once or
twice, and a physician some eight or ten times.
"Many other persons, neighbors, gave evidence to
the same effect. No one was spoken of as frequenting
the house. It was not known whether there were any
living connexions of Madame L. and her daughter.
The shutters of the front windows were seldom opened.
Those in the rear were always closed, with the excep-
tion of the large back room, fourth story. The house
was a good house — not very old.
"Isidore Muset, gendarme, deposes that he was called
to the house about three o'clock in the morning, and
found some twenty or thirty persons at the gateway,
endeavoring to gain admittance. Forced it open, at
length, with a bayonet — not with a crowbar. Had
but little difficulty in getting it open, on account of its
being a double or folding gate, and bolted neither at


160 TALES.
bottom nor top. The shrieks were continued until the
gate was forced — and then suddenly ceased. They
seemed to be screams of some person (or persons) in
great agony — were loud and drawn out, not short and
quick. Witness led the way up stairs. Upon reach-
ing the first landing, heard two voices in loud and angry
contention — the one a gruff voice, the other much
shriller — a very strange voice. Could distinguish
some words of the former, which was that of a French-
man. Was positive that it was not a woman's voice.
Could distinguish the words 'saere' and ' diabk.' The
shrill voice was that of a foreigner. Could not be sure
whether it was the voice of a man or of a woman.
Could not make out what was said, but believed the
language to be Spanish. The state of the room and
of the bodies was described by this witness as we
described them yesterday.
"Henri Duval, a neighbor, and by trade a silver-
smith, deposes that he was one of the party who first
entered the house. Corroborates the testimony of
Muset in general. As soon as they forced an entrance,
they reclosed the door, to keep out the crowd, which
collected very fast, notwithstanding the lateness of the
hour. The shrill voice, the witness thinks, was that
of an Italian. Was certain it was not French. Could
not be sure that it was a man's voice. It might have
been a woman's. Was not acquainted with the Italian
language. Could not distinguish the words, but was
convinced by the intonation that the speaker was an
Italian. Knew Madame L. and her daughter. Had
conversed with both frequently. Was sure that the
shrill voice was not that of either of the deceased.
"Odenbeimer, restaurateur. This witness
volunteered his testimony. Not speaking French,


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. l6l
was examined through an interpreter. Is a native of
Amsterdam. Was passing the house at the time of
the shrieks. They lasted for several minutes — prob-
ably ten. They were long and loud — very awful
and distressing. Was one of those who entered the
building. Corroborated the previous evidence in every
respect but one. Was sure that the shrill voice was
that of a man — of a Frenchman. Could not dis-
tinguish the words uttered. They were loud and
quick — unequal — spoken apparently in fear as well
as in anger. The voice was harsh — not so much
shrill as harsh. Could not call it a shrill voice. The
gruff voice said repeatedly 'sacre,' 'diable' and once
'man Dieu.'
"Jules Mignaud, banker, of the firm of Mignaud et
Flls, Rue Deloraine. Is the elder Mignaud. Madame
L'Espanaye had some property. Had opened an
account with his banking house in the spring of the
year (eight years previously). Made frequent
deposits in small sums. Had checked for nothing
until the third day before her death, when she took
out in person the sum of 4000 francs. This sum
was paid in gold, and a clerk sent home with the
money.
"Adolphe Le Bon, clerk to Mignaud et Fils, deposes
that on the day in question, about noon, he accom-
panied Madame L'Espanaye to her residence with the
4000 francs, put up in two bags. Upon the door
being opened, Mademoiselle L. appeared and took
from his hands one of the bags, while the old lady
relieved him of the other. He then bowed and de-
parted. Did not see any person in the street at the
time. It is a bye-street — very lonely.
"William Bird, tailor, deposes that he was one of
vOL. 1V.— 11


162 TALES.
the party who entered the house. Is an Englishman.
Has lived in Paris two years. Was one of the first
to ascend the stairs. Heard the voices in contention.
The gruff voice was that of a Frenchman. Could
make out several words, but cannot now remember all.
Heard distinctly 'sacre' and 'mon Dieu.' There
was a sound at the moment as if of several persons
struggling — a scraping and scuffling sound. The
shrill voice was very loud — louder than the gruff one.
Is sure that it was not the voice of an Englishman.
Appeared to be that of a German. Might have
been a woman's voice. Does not understand Ger-
man.
"Four of the above-named witnesses, being recalled,
deposed that the door of the chamber in which was
found the body of Mademoiselle L. was locked on the
inside when the party reached it. Every thing was
perfectly silent — no groans or noises of any kind.
Upon forcing the door no person was seen. The
windows, both of the back and front room, were down
and firmly fastened from within. A door between the
two rooms was closed, but not locked. The door
leading from the front room into the passage was locked,
with the key on the inside. A small room in the
front of the house, on the fourth story, at the head of
the passage, was open, the door being ajar. This
room was crowded with old beds, boxes, and so forth.
These were carefully removed and searched. There
was not an inch of any portion of the house which
was not carefully searched. Sweeps were sent up and
down the chimneys. The house was a four story one,
with garrets {mansardes). A trap-door on the roof
was nailed down very securely — did not appear to
have been opened for years. The time elapsing be-


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 163
tween the hearing of the voices in contention and the
breaking open of the room door, was variously stated by
the witnesses. Some made it as short as three minutes
— some as long as five. The door was opened with
difficulty.
"Alfonzo Garcio, undertaker, deposes that he re-
sides in the Rue Morgue. Is a native of Spain.
Was one of the party who entered the house. Did
not proceed up stairs. Is nervous, and was appre-
hensive of the consequences of agitation. Heard the
voices in contention. The gruff voice was that of a
Frenchman. Could not distinguish what was said.
The shrill voice was that of an Englishman — is sure
of this. Does not understand the English language,
but judges by the intonation.
"Alberto Montani, confectioner, deposes that he
was among the first to ascend the stairs. Heard the
voices in question. The gruff voice was that of a
Frenchman. Distinguished several words. The
speaker appeared to be expostulating. Could not make
out the words of the shrill voice. Spoke quick and
unevenly. Thinks it the voice of a Russian. Corrob-
orates the general testimony. Is an Italian. Never
conversed with a native of Russia.
"Several witnesses, recalled, here testified that the
chimneys of all the rooms on the fourth story were too
narrow to admit the passage of a human being. By
'sweeps' were meant cylindrical sweeping-brushes,
such as are employed by those who clean chimneys.
These brushes were passed up and down every flue
in the house. There is no back passage by which
any one could have descended while the party pro-
ceeded up stairs. The body of Mademoiselle L'Es-
panaye was so firmly wedged in the chimney that it


164 TALES.
could not be got down until four or five of the party
united their strength.
"Paul Dumas, physician, deposes that he was
called to view the bodies about day-break. They
were both then lying on the sacking of the bedstead
in the chamber where Mademoiselle L. was found.
The corpse of the young lady was much bruised and
excoriated. The fact that it had been thrust up the
chimney would sufficiently account for these appear-
ances. The throat was greatly chafed. There were
several deep scratches just below the chin, together
with a series of livid spots which were evidently the
impression of fingers. The face was fearfully dis-
colored, and the eye-balls protruded. The tongue had
been partially bitten through. A large bruise was
discovered upon the pit of the stomach, produced,
apparently, by the pressure of a knee. In the opinion
of M. Dumas, Mademoiselle L'Espanaye had been
throttled to death by some person or persons unknown.
The corpse of the mother was horribly mutilated.
All the bones of the right leg and arm were more or
less shattered. The left tibia much splintered, as
well as all the ribs of the left side. Whole body
dreadfully bruised and discolored. It was not possible
to say how the injuries had been inflicted. A heavy
club of wood, or a broad bar of iron — a chair— any
large, heavy, and obtuse weapon would have pro-
duced such results, if wielded by the hands of a very
powerful man. No woman could have inflicted the
blows with any weapon. The head of the deceased,
when seen by witness, was entirely separated from the
body, and was also greatly shattered. The throat had
evidently been cut with some very sharp instrument
— probably with a razor.


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 165
"Alexandre Etienne, surgeon, was called with M.
Dumas to view the bodies. Corroborated the testi-
mony, and the opinions of M. Dumas.
"Nothing farther of importance was elicited, al-
though several other persons were examined. A
murder so mysterious, and so perplexing in all its par-
ticulars, was never before committed in Paris — if
indeed a murder has been committed at all. The
police are entirely at fault — an unusual occurrence
in affairs of this nature. There is not, however, the
shadow of a clew apparent."
The evening edition of the paper stated that the
greatest excitement still continued in the Quartier St.
Roch — that the premises in question had been care-
fully re-searched, and fresh examinations of witnesses
instituted, but all to no purpose. A postscript, how-
ever mentioned that Adolphe Le Bon had been arrested
and imprisoned— although nothing appeared to crim-
inate him, beyond the facts already detailed.
Dupin seemed singularly interested in the progress
of this affair — at least so I judged from his manner,
for he made no comments. It was only after the an-
nouncement that Le Bon had been imprisoned, that he
asked me my opinion respecting the murders.
I could merely agree with all Paris in considering
them an insoluble mystery. I saw no means by
which it would be possible to trace the murderer.
"We must not judge of the means," said Dupin,
"by this shell of an examination. The Parisian po-
lice, so much extolled for acumen, are cunning, but
no more. There is no method in their proceedings,
beyond the method of the moment. They make a
vast parade of measures; but, not unfrequently, these
are so ill adapted to the objects proposed, as to put us


166 TALES.
in mind of Monsieur Jourdain's calling for his robe-
dt-chambre —pour mieux entendre la musique. The
results attained by them are not unfrequently surpris-
ing, but, for the most part, are brought about by
simple diligence and activity. When these qualities
are unavailing, their schemes fail. Vidocq, for ex-
ample, was a good guesser, and a persevering man.
But, without educated thought, he erred continually
by the very intensity of his investigations. He im-
paired his vision by holding the object too close. He
might see, perhaps, one or two points with unusual
clearness, but in so doing he, necessarily, lost sight of
the matter as a whole. Thus there is such a thing as
being too profound. Truth is not always in a well.
In fact, as regards the more important knowledge, I
do believe that she is invariably superficial. The
depth lies in the valleys where we seek her, and not
upon the mountain-tops where she is found. The
modes and sources of this kind of error are well typi-
fied in the contemplation of the heavenly bodies. To
look at a star by glances — to view it in a side-long
way, by turning toward it the exterior portions of the
retina (more susceptible of feeble impressions of light
than the interior), is to behold the star distinctly — is
to have the best appreciation of its lustre — a lustre
which grows dim just in proportion as we turn our
vision fully upon it. A greater number of rays actually
fall upon the eye in the latter case, but, in the former,
there is the more refined capacity for comprehension.
By undue profundity we perplex and enfeeble thought;
and it is possible to make even Venus herself vanish
from the firmament by a scrutiny too sustained, too
concentrated, or too direct.
"As for these murders, let us enter into some exam-


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 167
illations for ourselves, before we make up an opinion
respecting them. An inquiry will afford us amuse-
ment," [I thought this an odd term, so applied, but
said nothing] "and, besides, Le Bon once rendered
me a service for which I am not ungrateful. We will
go and see the premises with our own eyes. I know
G , the Prefect of Police, and shall have no
difficulty in obtaining the necessary permission."
The permission was obtained, and we proceeded at
once to the Rue Morgue. This is one of those miser-
able thoroughfares which intervene between the Rue
Richelieu and the Rue St. Roch. It was late in the
afternoon when we reached it; as this quarter is at a
great distance from that in which we resided. The
house was readily found; for there were still many
persons gazing up at the closed shutters, with an ob-
jectless curiosity, from the opposite side of the way.
It was an ordinary Parisian house, with a gateway, on
one side of which was a glazed watch-box, with a
sliding panel in the window, indicating a loge de con-
cierge. Before going in we walked up the street,
turned down an alley, and then, again turning, passed
in the rear of the building — Dupin, meanwhile, ex-
amining the whole neighborhood, as well as the house,
with a minuteness of attention for which I could see
no possible object.
Retracing our steps, we came again to the front of
the dwelling, rang, and, having shown our credentials,
were admitted by the agents in charge. We went
up stairs — into the chamber where the body of Mad-
emoiselle L'Espanaye had been found, and where both
the deceased still lay. The disorders of the room
had, as usual, been suffered to exist. I saw nothing
beyond what had been stated in the "Gazette des


l68 TALES.
Tribonaux." Dupin scrutinized evgy thing — not
excepting the bodies of the victhns. We then went
into the other rooms, and into the yard; a gendarme
accompanying us throughout. The examination occu-
pied us until dark, when we took our departure. On
our way home my companion stopped in for a mo-
ment at the office of one of the daily papers.
I have said that the whims of my friend were mani-
fold, and that Je les meutgeeii- — for this phrase
there is no English equivalent. It was his humor,
now, to decline all conversation on the subject of the
murder, until about noon the next day. He then
asked me, suddenly, if I had observed any thing
peculisr at the scene of the atrocity.
There was something in his manner of emphasizing
the word "peculiar," which caused me to shudder,
without knowing why.
"No, nothing peculiar" I said; "nothing more,
at least, than we both saw stated in the paper."
"The ' Gazette,' " he replied, "has not enterep,
I fear, into the unusual horror of the thing. But dis-
miss the idle opinions of this print. It appears to me
that this mystery is considered insoluble, for the very
reason which should cause it to be regarded as easy of
solution — I mean for the tutri character of its fea-
tures. The police are confounded by the seeming ab-
sence of motive — not for the murder itself—but for
the atrocity of the murder. They are puzzled, too,
by the seeming impossibility of reconciling the voices
heard in contention, with the facts that no one was
discovered up stairs but the assassinated Mademoiselle
L'Espanaye, and that there were no means of egress
without the notice of the party ascending. The wild
disorder of the room; the corpse thrust, with the


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE 169
head downward, up the chimney; the frightful muti-
lation of the body of the old lady; these considera-
tions, with those just mentioned, and others which 1
need not mention, have sufficed to paralyze the
powers, by putting completely at fault the boasted
acumen, of the government agents. They have fallen
into the gross but common error of confounding the
unusual with the abstruse. But it is by these devia-
tions from the plane of the ordinary, that reason feels
its way, if at all, in its search for the true. In inves-
tigations such as we are now pursuing, it should not be
so much asked 'what has occurred,' as 'what has oc-
curred that has never occurred before.' In fact, the
facility with which I shall arrive, or have arrived, at
the solution of this mystery, is in the direct ratio of its
apparent insolubility in the eyes of the police."
I stared at the speaker in mute astonishment.
"I am now awaiting," continued he, looking toward
the door of our apartment — "I am now await-
ing a person who, although perhaps not the perpe-
trator of these butcheries, must have been in some
measure implicated in their perpetration. Of the
worst portion of the crimes committed, it is probable
that he is innocent. I hope that I am right in this
supposition; for upon it I build my expectation of
reading the entire riddle. I look for the man here —
in thb room — every moment. It is true that he
may not arrive; but the probability is that he will.
Should he come, it will be necessary to detain him.
Here are pistols; and we both know how to use them
when occasion demands their use."
I took the pistols, scarcely knowing what I did, or
believing what I heard, while Dupin went on, very
much as if in a soliloquy. I have already spoken of


170 TALES.
his abstract manner at such times. His discourse was
addressed to myself; but his voice, although by no
means loud, had that intonation which is commonly
employed in speaking to some one at a great distance.
His eyes, vacant in expression, regarded only the wall.
"That the voices heard in contention," he said,
"by the party upon the stairs, were not the voices of
the women themselves, was fully proved by the evi-
dence. This relieves us of all doubt upon the ques-
tion whether the old lady could have first destroyed the
daughter, and afterward have committed suicide. I
speak of this point chiefly for the sake of method ; for
the strength of Madame L'Espanaye would have been
utterly unequal to the task of thrusting her daughter's
corpse up the chimney as it was found; and the na-
ture of the wounds upon her own person entirely pre-
clude the idea of self-destruction. Murder, then, has
been committed by some third party; and the voices
of this third party were those heard in contention.
Let me now advert — not to the whole testimony
respecting these voices — but to what was peculiar in
that testimony. Did you observe anything peculiar
about it?"
I remarked that, while all the witnesses agreed in
supposing the gruff voice to be that of a Frenchman,
there was much disagreement in regard to the shrill,
or, as one individual termed it, the harsh voice.
"That was the evidence itself," said Dupin, "but
it was not the peculiarity of the evidence. You have
observed nothing distinctive. Yet there was something
to be observed. The witnesses, as you remark, agreed
about the gruff voice; they were here unanimous. But
in regard to the shrill voice, the peculiarity is — not
that they disagreed — but that, while an Italian, an


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 171
Englishman, a Spaniard, a Hollander, and a French-
man attempted to describe it, each one spoke of it as
that of a foreigner. Each is sure that it was not the
voice of one of his own countrymen. Each likens it
— not to the voice of an individual of any nation with
whose language he is conversant — but the converse.
The Frenchman supposes it the voice of a Spaniard,
and 'might have distinguished some words bad he been
acquainted with the Spanish.' The Dutchman main-
tains it to have been that of a Frenchman; but we
find it stated that 'not understanding French this wit-
ness teas examined through an interpreter.' The Eng-
lishman thinks it the voice of a German, and 'does not
understand German.' The Spaniard 'is sure' that it
was that of an Englishman, but 'judges by the intona-
tion' altogether, 'as he has no knowledge of the Eng-
lish.' The Italian believes it the voice of a Russian,
but 'has never conversed with a native of Russia.'
A second Frenchman differs, moreover, with the first,
and is positive that the voice was that of an Italian;
but, not being cognizant of that tongue, is, like the
Spaniard, 'convinced by the intonation.' Now, how
strangely unusual must that voice have really been, about
which such testimony as this could have been elicited!
— in whose tones, even, denizens of the five great divi-
sions of Europe could recognise nothing familiar! You
will say that it might have been the voice of an Asiatic
— of an African. Neither Asiatics nor Africans
abound in Paris; but, without denying the inference,
I will now merely call your attention to three points.
The voice is termed by one witness ' harsh rather than
shrill.' It is represented by two others to have been
'quick and unequal.' No words — no sounds resem-
bling words — were by any witness mentioned as
distinguishable.


172 TALES.
"I know not," continued Dupin, "what impres-
sion I may have made, so far, upon your own under-
standing; but I do not hesitate to say that legitimate
deductions even from this portion of the testimony —
the portion respecting the gruff and shrill voices — are
in themselves sufficient to engender a suspicion which
should give direction to all farther progress in the inves-
tigation of the mystery. I said 'legitimate deductions ;'
but my meaning is not thus fully expressed. I designed
to imply that the deductions are the sale proper ones,
and that the suspicion arises inevitably from them as
the single result. What the suspicion is, however, I
will not say just yet. I merely wish you to bear in
mind that, with myself, it was sufficiently forcible to
give a definite form — a certain tendency — to my
inquiries in the chamber.
"Let us now transport ourselves, in fancy, to this
chamber. What shall we first seek here? The means
of egress employed by the murderers. It is not too
much to say that neither of us believe in preternatural
events. Madame and Mademoiselle L'Espanaye were
not destroyed by spirits. The doers of the deed were
material, and escaped materially. Then how? For-
tunately, there is but one mode of reasoning upon the
point, and that mode must lead us to a definite deci-
sion.— Let us examine, each by each, the possible
means of egress. It is clear that the assassins were in
the room where Mademoiselle L'Espanaye was found,
or at least in the room adjoining, when the party
ascended the stairs. It is then only from these two
apartments that we have to seek issues. The police
have laid bare the floors, the ceilings, and the 'masonry
of the walls, in everv direction. No secret issues could
have escaped their vigilance. But, not trusting to their


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 173
eyes, I examined with my own. There were, then,
no secret issues. Both doors leading from the rooms
into the passage were securely locked, with the keys
inside. Let us turn to the chimneys. These,
although of ordinary width for some eight or ten feet
above the hearths, will not admit, throughout their
extent, the body of a large cat. The impossibility of
egress, by means already stated, being thus absolute,
we are reduced to the windows. Through those of
the front room no one could have escaped without
notice from the crowd in the street. The murderers
must have passed, then, through those of the back
room. Now, brought to this conclusion in so unequiv-
ocal a manner as we are, it is not our part, as rea-
soners, to reject it on account of apparent impossibilities.
It is only left for us to prove that these apparent
'impossibilities' are, in reality, not such.
"There are two windows in the chamber. One
of them is unobstructed by furniture, and is wholly
visible. The lower portion of the other is hidden
from view by the head of the unwieldy bedstead which
is thrust close up against it. The former was found
securely fastened from within. It resisted the utmost
force of those who endeavored to raise it. A large
gimlet-hole had been pierced in its frame to the left,
and a very stout nail was found fitted therein, nearly
to the head. Upon examining the other window, a
similar nail was seen similarly fitted in it; and a vig-
orous attempt to raise this sash, failed also. The
police were now entirely satisfied that egress had not
been in these directions. And, therefore, it was
thought a matter of supererogation to withdraw the
nails and open the windows.
"My own examination was somewhat more par-


174 TALES.
ticular, and was so for the reason I have just given
— because here it was, I knew, that all apparent
impossibilities must be proved to be not such in reality.
"I proceeded to think thus — a posteriori. The
murderers did escape from one of these windows.
This being so, they could not have re-fastened the
sashes from the inside, as they were found fastened;
— the consideration which put a stop, through its
obviousness, to the scrutiny of the police in this
quarter. Yet the sashes were fastened. They must,
then, have the power of fastening themselves. There
was no escape from this conclusion. I stepped to the
unobstructed casement, withdrew the nail with some
difficulty, and attempted to raise the sash. It resisted
all my efforts, as I had anticipated. A concealed
spring must, I now knew, exist; and this corrobora-
tion of my idea convinced me that my premises, at
least, were correct, however mysterious still appeared
the circumstances attending the nails. A careful search
soon brought to light the hidden spring. I pressed it,
and, satisfied with the discovery, forebore to upraise
the sash.
"I now replaced the nail and regarded it attentively.
A person passing out through this window might have
reclosed it, and the spring would have caught — but
the nail could not have been replaced. The conclu-
sion was plain, and again narrowed in the field of my
investigations. The assassins must have escaped through
the other window. Supposing, then, the springs upon
each sash to be the same, as was probable, there must
be found a difference between the nails, or at least be-
tween the modes of their fixture. Getting upon the
sacking of the bedstead, I looked over the head-board
minutely at the second casement. Passing my hand


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 175
down behind the board, I readily discovered and pressed
the spring, which was, as I had supposed, identical in
character with its neighbor. I now looked at the nail.
It was as stout as the other, and apparently fitted in
the same manner — driven in nearly up to the head.
"You will say that I was puzzled; but, if you
think so, you must have misunderstood the nature of
the inductions. To use a sporting phrase, I had not
been once 'at fault.' The scent had never for an
instant been lost. There was no flaw in any link of
the chain. I had traced the secret to its ultimate result,
— and that result was the nail. It had, I say, in every
respect, the appearance of its fellow in the other win-
dow; but this fact was an absolute nullity (conclusive
as it might seem to be) when compared with the con-
sideration that here, at this point, terminated the clew.
'There must be something wrong,' I said, 'about the
nail.' I touched it; and the head, with about a quar-
ter of an inch of the shank, came off in my fingers.
The rest of the shank was in the gimlet-hole, where it
had been broken off. The fracture was an old one
(for its edges were incrusted with rust), and had
apparently been accomplished by the blow of a ham-
mer, which had partially imbedded, in the top of the
bottom sash, the head portion of the nail. I now
carefully replaced this head portion in the indentation
whence I had taken it, and the resemblance to a per-
fect nail was complete — the fissure was invisible.
Pressing the spring, I gently raised the sash for a few
inches; the head went up with it, remaining firm in
its bed. I closed the window, and the semblance of
the whole nail was again perfect.
"The riddle, so far, was now unriddled. The
assassin had escaped through the window which looked


176 TALES.
upon the bed. Dropping of its own accord upon his
exit (or perhaps purposely closed), it had become
fastened by the spring; and it was the retention of
this spring which had been mistaken by the police for
that of the nail, —farther inquiry being thus considered
unnecessary.
"The next question is that of the mode of descent.
Upon this point I had been satisfied in my walk with
you around the building. About five feet and a half
from the casement in question there runs a lightning-
rod. From this rod it would have been impossible
for any one to reach the window itself, to say nothing
of entering it. I observed, however, that the shutters
of the fourth story were of the peculiar kind called by
Parisian carpenters ferrades — a kind rarely employed
at the present day, but frequently seen upon very old
mansions at Lyons and Bordeaux. They are in the
form of an ordinary door, (a single, not a folding door)
except that the upper half is latticed or worked in open
trellis — thus affording an excellent hold for the hands.
In the present instance these shutters are fully three
feet and a half broad. When we saw them from the
rear of the house, they were both about half open —
that is to say, they stood off at right angles from the
wall. It is probable that the police, as well as myself,
examined the back of the tenement; but, if so, in
looking at these ferrades in the line of their breadth
(as they must have done), they did not perceive this
great breadth itself, or, at all events, failed to take it
into due consideration. In fact, having once satisfied
themselves that no egress could have been made in this
quarter, they would naturally bestow here a very cursory
examination. It was clear to me, however, that the
shutter belonging to the window at the head of the


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 177
bed, would, if swung fully back to the wall, reach to
within two feet of the lightning-rod. It was also
evident that, by exertion of a very unusual degree of
activity and courage, an entrance into the window,
from the rod, might have been thus effected. — By
reaching to the distance of two feet and a half (we
now suppose the shutter open to its whole extent) a
robber might have taken a firm grasp upon the trellis-
work. Letting go, then, his hold upon the rod, plac-
ing his feet securely against the wall, and springing
boldly from it, he might have swung the shutter so as
to close it, and, if we imagine the window open at
the time, might even have swung himself into the
room.
"I wish you to bear especially in mind that I have
spoken of a very unusual degree of activity as requisite
to success in so hazardous and so difficult a feat. It is
my design to show you, first, that the thing might pos-
sibly have been accomplished : — but, secondly and
chiefly, I wish to impress upon your understanding the
very extraordinary — the almost praeternatural char-
acter of that agility which could have accomplished it.
"You will say, no doubt, using the language of the
law, that 'to make out my case' I should rather under-
value, than insist upon a full estimation of the activity
required in this matter. This may be the practice in
law, but it is not the usage of reason. My ultimate
object is only the truth. My immediate purpose is to
lead you to place in juxta-position that very unusual
activity of which I have just spoken, with that very
peculiar shrill (or harsh) and unequal voice, about
whose nationality no two persons could be found to
agree, and in whose utterance no syllabification could
be detected."
vol. iv.—12


178 TALES.
At these words a vague and half-formed conception
of the meaning of Dupin flitted over my mind. I
seemed to be upon the verge of comprehension, with-
out power to comprehend — as men, at times, find
themselves upon the brink of remembrance, without
being able, in the end, to remember. My friend
went on with his discourse.
"You will see," he said, "that I have shifted the
question from the mode of egress to that of ingress.
It was my design to suggest that both were effected
in the same manner, at the same point. Let us now
revert to the interior of the room. Let us survey the
appearances here. The drawers of the bureau, it is
said, had been rifled, although many articles of apparel
still remained within them. The conclusion here is
absurd. It is a mere guess — a very silly one — and
no more. How are we to know that the articles found
in the drawers were not all these drawers had originally
contained? Madame L' Espanaye and her daughter
lived an exceedingly retired life—saw no company
— seldom went out — had little use for numerous
changes of habiliment. Those found were at least
of as good quality as any likely to be possessed by
these ladies. If a thief had taken any, why did he
not take the best — why did he not take all? In a
word, why did he abandon four thousand francs in
gold to encumber himself with a bundle of linen?
The gold was abandoned. Nearly the whole sum
mentioned by Monsieur Mignaud, the banker, was
discovered, in bags, upon the floor. I wish you,
therefore, to discard from your thoughts the blunder-
ing idea of motive, engendered in the brains of the
police by that portion of the evidence which speaks
of money delivered at the door of the house. Coin-


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 179
cidences ten times as remarkable as this (the delivery
of the money, and murder committed within three
days upon the party receiving it), happen to all of
us every hour of our lives, without attracting even
momentary notice. Coincidences, in general, are great
stumbling-blocks in the way of that class of thinkers
who have been educated to know nothing of the theory
of probabilities — that theory to which the most glori-
ous objects of human research are indebted for the most
glorious of illustration. In the present instance, had
the gold been gone, the fact of its delivery three days
before would have formed something more than a coin-
cidence. It would have been corroborative of this idea
of motive. But, under the real circumstances of the
case, if we are to suppose gold the motive of this out-
rage, we must also imagine the perpetrator so vacillat-
ing an idiot as to have abandoned his gold and his
motive together.
"Keeping now steadily in mind the points to which
I have drawn your attention — that peculiar voice, that
unusual agility, and that startling absence of motive in
a murder so singularly atrocious as this — let us glance
at the butchery itself. Here is a woman strangled to
death by manual strength, and thrust up a chimney,
head downward. Ordinary assassins employ no such
modes of murder as this. Least of all, do they thus
dispose of the murdered. In the manner of thrusting
the corpse up the chimney, you will admit that there
was something excessively outre—something altogether
irreconcilable with our common notions of human
action, even when we suppose the actors the most
depraved of men. Think, too, how great must have
been that strength which could have thrust the body
up such an aperture so forcibly that the united vigor


180 TALES.
of several persons was found barely sufficient to drag
it down!
"Turn, now, to other indications of the employ-
ment of a vigor most marvellous. On the hearth were
thick tresses — very thick tresses — of grey human
hair. These had been torn out by the roots. You
are aware of the great force necessary in tearing thus
from the head even twenty or thirty hairs together.
You saw the locks in question as well as myself.
Their roots (a hideous sight !) were clotted with frag-
ments of the flesh of the scalp — sure token of the
prodigious power which had been exerted in uprooting
perhaps half a million of hairs at a time. The throat
of the old lady was not merely cut, but the head abso-
lutely severed from the body: the instrument was a
mere razor. I wish you also to look at the brutal
ferocity of these deeds. Of the bruises upon the body
of Madame L'Espanaye I do not speak. Monsieur
Dumas, and his worthy coadjutor Monsieur Etienne,
have pronounced that they were inflicted by some obtuse
instrument; and so far these gentlemen are very cor-
rect. The obtuse instrument was clearly the stone
pavement in the yard, upon which the victim had fallen
from the window which looked in upon the bed. This
idea, however simple it may now seem, escaped the police
for the same reason that the breadth of the shutters es-
caped them — because, by the affair of the nails, their
perceptions had been hermetically sealed against the pos-
sibility of the windows having ever been opened at all.
"If now, in addition to all these things, you have
properly reflected upon the odd disorder of the cham-
ber, we have gone so far as to combine the ideas of an
agility astounding, a strength superhuman, a ferocity
brutal, a butchery without motive, a grotesquerie in


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 181
horror absolutely alien from humanity, and a voice
foreign in tone to the ears of men of many nations,
and devoid of all distinct or intelligible syllabification.
What result, then, has ensued? What impression have
I made upon your fancy?"
I felt a creeping of the flesh as Dupin asked me the
question. "A madman," I said, "has done this deed
— some raving maniac, escaped from a neighboring
Maisoft de Santi."
"In some respects," he replied, "your idea is not
irrelevant. But the voices of madmen, even in their
wildest paroxysms, are never found to tally with that
peculiar voice heard upon the stairs. Madmen are of
some nation, and their language, however incoherent in
its words, has always the coherence of syllabification.
Besides, the hair of a madman is not such as I now
hold in my hand. I disentangled this little tuft from
the rigidly clutched fingers of Madame L'Espanaye.
Tell me what you can make of it."
"Dupin!" I said, completely unnerved; "this
hair is most unusual — this is no human hair."
"I have not asserted that it is," said he; "but,
before we decide this point, I wish you to glance at
the little sketch I have here traced upon this paper.
It is a facsimile drawing of what has been described
in one portion of the testimony as 'dark bruises, and
deep indentations of finger nails,' upon the throat of
Mademoiselle L'Espanaye, and in another, (by Messrs.
Dumas and Etiennc,) as a 'series of livid spots, evi-
dently the impression of fingers.'
"You will perceive," continued my friend, spread-
ing out the paper upon the table before us, "that this
drawing gives the idea of a firm and fixed hold. There
is no slipping apparent. Each finger has retained —


182 TALES.
possibly until the death of the victim — the fearful
grasp by which it originally imbedded itself. Attempt,
now, to place all your fingers, at the same time, in the
respective impressions as you see them."
I made the attempt in vain.
"We are possibly not giving this matter a fair trial,"
he said. "The paper is spread out upon a plane sur-
face; but the human throat is cylindrical. Here is a
billet of wood, the circumference of which is about
that of the throat. Wrap the drawing around it, and
try the experiment again."
I did so; but the difficulty was even more obvious
than before.
"This," I said, "is themark of no human hand."
"Read now," replied Dupin, "this passage from
Cuvier."
It was a minute anatomical and generally descriptive
account of the large fulvous Ourang-Outang of the
East Indian Islands. The gigantic stature, the pro-
digious strength and activity, the wild ferocity, and the
imitative propensities of these mammalia are sufficiently
well known to all. I understood the full horrors of the
murder at once.
"The description of the digits," said I, as I made
an end of reading, "is in exact accordance with this
drawing. I see that no animal but an Ourang-Outang,
of the species here mentioned, could have impressed
the indentations as you have traced them. This tuft
of tawny hair, too, is identical in character with that
of the beast of Cuvier. But I cannot possibly com-
prehend the particulars of this frightful mystery. Be-
sides, there were two voices heard in contention, and
one of them was unquestionably the voice of a French-


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 183
'' True; and you will remember an expression
attributed almost unanimously, by the evidence, to this
voice, — the expression, 'men Dieu!' This, under
the circumstances, has been justly characterized by one
of the witnesses (Montani, the confectioner,) as an
expression of remonstrance or expostulation. Upon
these two words, therefore, I have mainly built my
hopes of a full solution of the riddle. A Frenchman
was cognizant of the murder. It is possible — indeed
it is far more than probable — that he was innocent of
all participation in the bloody transactions which took
place. The Ourang-Outang may have escaped from
him. He may have traced it to the chamber; but,
under the agitating circumstances which ensued, he
could never have re-captured it. It is still at large. I
will not pursue these guesses — for I have no right to
call them more — since the shades of reflection upon
which they are based are scarcely of sufficient depth to
be appreciable by my own intellect, and since I could
not pretend to make them intelligible to the understand-
ing of another. We will call them guesses then, and
speak of them as such. If the Frenchman in question
is indeed, as I suppose, innocent of this atrocity, this
advertisement, which I left last night, upon our return
home, at the office of ' Le Monde,' (a paper devoted
to the shipping interest, and much sought by sailors,)
will bring him to our residence."
He handed me a paper, and I read thus:
Caught — In tie Bo'u de Boulogne, early in the
morning of the inst., (the morning of the mur-
der, ) a very large, tawny Ourang- Outang of the Bor-
nese species. The owner, (who is ascertained to be a
sailor, belonging to a Maltese vessel,') may have the


184 TALES.
animal again, upon identifying it satisfactorily, and pay-
ing a few charges arising from its capture and keeping.
Call at No. , Rue , Faubourg St. Germain
— au troisieme.
"How was it possible," I asked, "that you should
know the man to be a sailor, and belonging to a Mal-
tese vessel i"
"I do not know it," said Dupin. "I am not sure
of it. Here, however, is a small piece of ribbon,
which from its form, and from its greasy appearance,
has evidently been used in tying the hair in one of
those long queues of which sailors are so fond. More-
over, this knot is one which few besides sailors can
tie, and is peculiar to the Maltese. I picked the rib-
bon up at the foot of the lightning-rod. It could not
have belonged to either of the deceased. Now if,
after all, I am wrong in my induction from this ribbon,
that the Frenchman was a sailor belonging to a Maltese
vessel, still I can have done no harm in saying what
I did in the advertisement. If I am in error, he will
merely suppose that I have been misled by some cir-
cumstance into which he will not take the trouble to
inquire. But if I am right, a great point is gained.
Cognizant although innocent of the murder, the French-
man will naturally hesitate about replying to the ad-
vertisement— about demanding the Ourang-Outang.
He will reason thus : — 'I am innocent; I am poor;
my Ourang-Outang is of great value — to one in my
circumstances a fortune of itself—why should I lose
it through idle apprehensions of danger? Here it is,
within my grasp. It was found in the Bois de Bou-
logne— at a vast distance from the scene of that
butchery. How can it ever be suspected that a brute


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 185
beast should have done the deed? The police are at
fault — they have failed to procure the slightest clew.
Should they even trace the animal, it would be impos-
sible to prove me cognizant of the murder, or to im-
plicate me in guilt on account of that cognizance.
Above all, / am known. The advertiser designates
me as the possessor of the beast. I am not sure to
what limit his knowledge may extend. Should I
avoid claiming a property of so great value, which it is
known that I possess, I will render the animal, at least,
liable to suspicion. It is not my policy to attract
attention either to myself or to the beast. I will
answer the advertisement, get the Ourang-Outang, and
keep it close until this matter has blown over.'"
At this moment we heard a step upon the stairs.
"Be ready," said Dupin, "with your pistols, but
neither use them nor show them until at a signal from
myself."
The front door of the house had been left open, and
the visitor had entered, without ringing, and advanced
several steps upon the staircase. Now, however, he
seemed to hesitate. Presently we heard him descend-
ing. Dupin was moving quickly to the door, when
we again heard him coming up. He did not turn
back a second time, but stepped up with decision and
rapped at the door of our chamber.
"Come in," said Dupin, in a cheerful and hearty
tone.
A man entered. He was a sailor, evidently, — a
tall, stout, and muscular-looking person, with a cer-
tain dare-devil expression of countenance, not alto-
gether unprepossessing. His face, greatly sunburnt,
was more than half hidden by whisker and mustacbio.
He had with him a huge oaken cudgel, but appeared


186 TALES.
to be otherwise unarmed. He bowed awkwardly,
and bade us "good evening," in French accents,
which, although somewhat Neufchatelish, were still
sufficiently indicative of a Parisian origin.
"Sit down, my friend," said Dupin. "I suppose
you have called about the Ourang-Outang. Upon my
word, I almost envy you the possession of him; a re-
markably fine, and no doubt a very valuable animal.
How old do you suppose him to be?"
The sailor drew a long breath, with the air of a
man relieved of some intolerable burden, and then
replied, in an assured tone:
"I have no way of telling — but he can't be more
than four or five years old. Have you got him
here?"
"Oh no; we had no conveniences for keeping him
here. He is at a livery stable in the Rue Dubourg,
just by. You can get him in the morning. Of course
you are prepared to identify the property?"
"To be sure I am, sir."
"I shall be sorry to part with him," said Dupin.
"I don't mean that you should be at all this
trouble for nothing, sir," said the man. "Couldn't
expect it. Am very willing to pay a reward for
the finding of the animal — that is to say, any thing
in reason."
"Well," replied my friend, "that is all very fair,
to be sure. Let me think ! — what should I have?
Oh! I will tell you. My reward shall be this.
You shall give me all the information in your power
about these murders in the Rue Morgue."
Dupin said the last words in a very low tone, and
very quietly. Just as quietly, too, he walked toward
the door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.


The Mi'pdfrs in thf Rpe Morgpe.
Drawn bA F. C. Tiiiuy.











THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 187
He then drew a pistol from his bosom and placed it,
without the least flurry, upon the table.
The sailor's face flushed up as if he were struggling
with suffocation. He started to his feet and grasped
his cudgel; but the next moment he fell back into his
seat, trembling violently, and with the countenance of
death itself. He spoke not a word. I pitied him
from the bottom of my heart.
"My friend," said Dupin, in a kind tone, "you
are alarming yourself unnecessarily — you are indeed.
We mean you no harm whatever. I pledge you the
honor of a gentleman, and of a Frenchman, that we
intend you no injury. I perfectly well know that you
are innocent of the atrocities in the Rue Morgue. It
will not do, however, to deny that you are in some
measure implicated in them. From what I have
already said, you must know that I have had means
of information about this matter — means of which you
could never have dreamed. Now the thing stands
thus. You have done nothing which you could have
avoided—nothing, certainly, which renders you cul-
pable. You were not even guilty of robbery, when
you might have robbed with impunity. You have
nothing to conceal. You have no reason for conceal-
ment. On the other hand, you are bound by every
principle of honor to confess all you know. An inno-
cent man is now imprisoned, charged with that crime
of which you can point out the perpetrator.''
The sailor had recovered his presence of mind,
in a great measure, while Dupin uttered these
words; but his original boldness of bearing was all
gone.
"So help me God," said he, after a brief pause,
"I will tell you all I know about this affair ; — but I


188 TALES.
do not expect you to believe one half I say — I would
be a fool indeed if I did. Still, I am innocent, and
I will make a clean breast if I die for it."
What he stated was, in substance, this. He had
lately made a voyage to the Indian Archipelago. A
party, of which he formed one, landed at Borneo, and
passed into the interior on an excursion of pleasure.
Himself and a companion had captured the Ourang-
Outang. This companion dying, the animal fell into
his own exclusive possession. After great trouble,
occasioned by the intractable ferocity of his captive
during the home voyage, he at length succeeded in
lodging it safely at his own residence in Paris, where,
not to attract toward himself the unpleasant curiositv
of his neighbors, he kept it carefully secluded, until
such time as it should recover from a wound in the
foot, received from a splinter on board ship. His
ultimate design was to sell it.
Returning home from some sailors' frolic on the
night, or rather in the morning of the murder, he
found the beast occupying his own bed-room, into which
it had broken from a closet adjoining, where it had
been, as was thought, securely confined. Razor in
hand, and fully lathered, it was sitting before a looking-
glass, attempting the operation of shaving, in which it
had no doubt previously watched its master through
the key-hole of the closet. Terrified at the sight of
so dangerous a weapon in the possession of an animal
so ferocious, and so well able to use it, the man, for
some moments, was at a loss what to do. He had
been accustomed, however, to quiet the creature, even
in its fiercest moods, by the use of a whip, and to this
he now resorted. Upon sight of it, the Ourang-
Outang sprang at once through the door of the cham-


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 189
ber, down the stairs, and thence, through a window,
unfortunately open, into the street.
The Frenchman followed in despair; the ape, razor
still in hand, occasionally stopping to look back and
gesticulate at its pursuer, until the latter had nearly
come up with it. It then again made off. In this
manner the chase continued for a long time. The
streets were profoundly quiet, as it was nearly three
o'clock in the morning. In passing down an alley in
the rear of the Rue Morgue, the fugitive's attention
was arrested by a light gleaming from the open window
of Madame L'Espanayc's chamber, in the fourth story
of her house. Rushing to the building, it perceived
the lightning-rod, clambered up with inconceivable
agility, grasped the shutter, which was thrown fully
back against the wall, and, by its means, swung itself
directly upon the headboard of the bed. The whole
feat did not occupy a minute. The shutter was
kicked open again by the Ourang-Outang as it entered
the room.
The sailor, in the meantime, was both rejoiced and
perplexed. He had strong hopes of now recapturing
the brute, as it could scarcely escape from the trap
into which it had ventured, except by the rod, where
it might be intercepted as it came down. On the
other hand, there was much cause for anxiety as to
what it might do in the house. This latter reflection
urged the man still to follow the fugitive. A lightning-
rod is ascended without difficulty, especially by a sailor;
but, when he had arrived as high as the window, which
lay far to his left, his career was stopped; the most
that he could accomplish was to reach over so as to
obtain a glimpse of the interior of the room. At this
glimpse he nearly fell from his hold through excess of


19O TALES.
horror. Now it was that those hideous shrieks arose
upon the night, which had startled from slumber the
inmates of the Rue Morgue. Madame L'Espanaye
and her daughter, habited in their night clothes, had
apparently been arranging some papers in the iron
chest already mentioned, which had been wheeled into
the middle of the room. It was open, and its con-
tents lay beside it on the floor. The victims must
have been sitting with their backs toward the window;
and, from the time elapsing between the ingress of the
beast and the screams, it seems probable that it was
not immediately perceived. The flapping-to of the
shutter would naturally have been attributed to the
wind.
As the sailor looked in, the gigantic animal had
seized Madame L'Espanaye by the hair, (which was
loose, as she had been combing it,) and was flourish-
ing the razor about her face, in imitation of the motions
of a barber. The daughter lay prostrate and motionless;
she had swooned. The screams and struggles of the old
lady (during which the hair was torn from her head) had
the effect of changing the probably pacific purposes of
the Ourang-Outang into those of wrath. With one
determined sweep of its muscular arm it nearly severed
her head from her body. The sight of blood inflamed
its anger into phrenzy. Gnashing its teeth, and flash-
ing fire from its eyes, it flew upon the body of the
girl, and imbedded its fearful talons in her throat, re-
taining its grasp until she expired. Its wandering and
wild glances fell at this moment upon the head of the
bed, over which the face of its master, rigid with
horror, was just discernible. The fury of the beast,
who no doubt bore still in mind the dreaded whip,
was instantly converted into fear. Conscious of hav-


THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE. 191
ing deserved punishment, it seemed desirous of con-
cealing its bloody deeds, and skipped about the chamber
in an agony of nervous agitation ; throwing down and
breaking the furniture as it moved, and dragging the
bed from the bedstead. In conclusion, it seized first
the corpse of the daughter, and thrust it up the chimney,
as it was found; then that of the old lady, which it
immediately hurled through the window headlong.
As the ape approached the casement with its muti-
lated burden, the sailor shrank aghast to the rod, and,
rather gliding than clambering down it, hurried at once
home — dreading the consequences of the butchery,
and gladly abandoning, in his terror, all solicitude
about the fate of the Ourang-Outang. The words heard
by the party upon the staircase were the Frenchman's
exclamations of horror and affright, commingled with
the fiendish jabberings of the brute.
I have scarcely anything to add. The Ourang-
Outang must have escaped from the chamber, by the
rod, just before the breaking of the door. It must
have closed the window as it passed through it. It
was subsequently caught by the owner himself, who
obtained for it a very large sum at the Jardin des
Plantes. Le Bon was instantly released, upon our
narration of the circumstances (with some comments
from Dupin) at the bureau of the Prefect of Police.
This functionary, however well disposed to my friend,
could not altogether conceal his chagrin at the turn
which affairs had taken, and was fain to indulge in a
sarcasm or two, about the propriety of every person
minding his own business.
'' Let them talk," said Dupin, who had not thought
it necessary to reply. "Let him discourse; it will
ease his conscience. I am satisfied with having de-


192 TALES.
feated him in his own castle. Nevertheless, that he
failed in the solution of this mystery, is by no means
that matter for wonder which he supposes it; for, in
truth, our friend the Prefect is somewhat too cunning
to be profound. In his wisdom is no stamen. It is
all head and no body, like the pictures of the Goddess
Laverna, — or, at best, all head and shoulders, like a
codfish. But he is a good creature after all. I like
him especially for one master stroke of cant, by which
he has attained his reputation for ingenuity. I mean
the way he has 'de nier ce qui est, et a"' expliquer ce
qui n''estpas.' " l
1 Rousseau, Nouvelle Hclohe.


THE ISLAND OF THE FAY.
[Graham's Magazine, June, 1841 ; Broadway Jour-
nal, II. 13.]
Nullul enim locus sine genio est. — Servius.
"La musique" says Marmontel, in those "Contes
Moraux''1 which, in all our translations, we have insisted
upon calling " Moral Tales " as if in mockery of their
spirit— " la musique est le seul des t a lens qui jouissent
de lui-mime; tons les autres veulent des temoins."
He here confounds the pleasure derivable from sweet
sounds with the capacity for creating them. No
more than any other talent, is that for music suscepti-
ble of complete enjoyment, where there is no second
party to appreciate its exercise. And it is only in com-
mon with other talents that it produces effects which
may be fully enjoyed in solitude. The idea which the
raconteur has either failed to entertain clearly, or has
sacrificed in its expression to his national love of point,
is, doubtless, the very tenable one that the higher order
of music is the most thoroughly estimated when we are
exclusively alone. The proposition, in this form, will
be admitted at once by those who love the lyre for its
own sake, and for its spiritual uses. But there is one
pleasure still within the reach of fallen mortality — and
perhaps only one — which owes even more than does
1 Moraux is here derived from mxurs and its meaning is ttfatb*
ionable" or, more strictly, ''of manners."
VOL. 1V.— 13 193


194 TALES.
music to the accessory sentiment of seclusion. I mean
the happiness experienced in the contemplation of natu-
ral scenery. In truth, the man who would behold
aright the glory of God upon earth must in solitude
behold that glory. To me, at least, the presence —
not of human life only — but of life in any other form
than that of the green things which grow upon the soil
and are voiceless — is a stain upon the landscape — is
at war with the genius of the scene. I love, indeed,
to regard the dark valleys, and the grey rocks, and the
waters that silently smile, and the forests that sigh in
uneasy slumbers, and the proud watchful mountains
that look down upon all — I love to regard these as
themselves but the colossal members of one vast ani-
mate and sentient whole — a whole whose form (that
of the sphere) is the most perfect and most inclusive of
all; whose path is among associate planets; whose
meek handmaiden is the moon; whose mediate sover-
eign is the sun; whose life is eternity; whose thought
is that of a God; whose enjoyment is knowledge; whose
destinies are lost in immensity; whose cognizance of
ourselves is akin with our own cognizance of the ani-
malcule which infest the brain — a being which we,
in consequence, regard as purely inanimate and material,
much in the same manner as these animalcule must
thus regard us.
Our telescopes, and our mathematical investigations
assure us on every hand — notwithstanding the cant of
the more ignorant of the priesthood — that space, and
therefore that bulk, is an important consideration in the
eyes of the Almighty. The cycles in which the stars
move are those best adapted for the evolution, without
collision, of the greatest possible number of bodies.
The forms of those bodies are accurately such as, within


THE ISLAND OF THE FAY. 195
a given surface, to include the greatest possible amount
of matter ; — while the surfaces themselves are so dis-
posed as to accommodate a denser population than could
be accommodated on the same surfaces otherwise ar-
ranged. Nor is it any argument against bulk being an
object with God, that space itself is infinite; for there
may be an infinity of matter to fill it. And since we
see clearly that the endowment of matter with vitality
is a principle — indeed as far as our judgments extend,
the leading principle in the operations of Deity — it is
scarcely logical to imagine it confined to the regions of
the minute, where we daily trace it, and not extend-
ing to those of the august. As we find cycle within
cycle without end — yet all revolving around one far-
distant centre which is the Godhead, may we not
analogically suppose, in the same manner, life within
life, the less within the greater, and all within the
Spirit Divine? In short, we are madly erring,
through self-esteem, in believing man, in either his
temporal or future destinies, to be of more moment in
the universe than that vast " clod of the valley " which
he tills and contemns, and to which he denies a soul
for no more profound reason than that he does not
behold it in operation.1 /
These fancies, and such as these, have always given
to my meditations among the mountains, and the for-
ests, by the rivers and the ocean, a tinge of what the
every-day world would not fail to term the fantastic.
My wanderings amid such scenes have been many, and
far-searching, and often solitary; and the interest with
which I have strayed through many a dim deep valley,
or gazed into the reflected Heaven of many a bright
1 Speaking of the tides, Pomponius Mela, in his treatise " De Situ
Orbis" says '' either the world is a great animal, or" &c.


196 TALES.
lake, has been an interest greatly deepened by the
thought that I have strayed and gazed alone. What
flippant Frenchman 1 was it who said, in allusion to the
well-known work of Zimmerman, that, "la solitude
est une belle chose; mats il faut quelqu'un pour vous
dire que la solitude est une belle chose." The epi-
gram cannot be gainsaid; but the necessity is a thing
that docs not exist.
It was during one of my lonely journeyings, amid a
far-distant region of mountain locked within mountain,
and sad rivers and melancholy tarns writhing or sleep-
ing within all — that I chanced upon a certain rivulet
and island. I came upon them suddenly in the leafy
June, and threw myself upon the turf, beneath the
branches of an unknown odorous shrub, that I might
doze as I contemplated the scene. I felt that thus
only should I look upon it — such was the character
of phantasm which it wore.
On all sides — save to the west, where the sun was
about sinking — arose the verdant walls of the forest.
The little river which turned sharply in its course, and
was thus immediately lost to sight, seemed to have no
exit from its prison, but to be absorbed by the deep
green foliage of the trees to the east — while in the
opposite quarter (so it appeared to me as I lay at
length and glanced upward) there poured down noise-
lessly and continuously into the valley, a rich golden
and crimson water-fall from the sunset fountains of the
sky.
About midway in the short vista which my dreamy
vision took in, one small circular island, profusely ver-
dured, reposed upon the bosom of the stream.
1 Balzac — in substance — I do not remember the words.


THE ISLAND OF THE FAY. 197
So blended bank and shadow there,
That each seemed pendulous in air —
so mirror-like was the glassy water, that it was scarcely
possible to say at what point upon the slope of the
emerald turf its crystal dominion began.
My position enabled me to include in a single view
both the eastern and western extremities of the islet;
and I observed a singularly-marked difference in their
aspects. The latter was all one radiant harem of gar-
den beauties. It glowed and blushed beneath the eye
of the slant sunlight, and fairly laughed with flowers.
The grass was short, springy, sweet-scented, and
Asphodel-interspersed. The trees were lithe, mirth-
ful, erect — bright, slender and graceful — of eastern
figure and foliage, with bark smooth, glossy, and parti-
colored. There seemed a deep sense of life and joy
about all; and although no airs blew from out the
Heavens, yet everything had motion through the gen-
tle sweepings to and fro of innumerable butterflies, that
might have been mistaken for tulips with wings.1
The other or eastern end of the isle was whelmed in
the blackest shade. A sombre, yet beautiful and peace-
ful gloom here pervaded all things. The trees were
dark in color and mournful in form and attitude —
wreathing themselves into sad, solemn, and spectral
shapes, that conveyed ideas of mortal sorrow and un-
timely death. The grass wore the deep tint of the
cypress, and the heads of its blades hung droopingly,
and, hither and thither among it, were many small
unsightly hillocks, low, and narrow, and not very long,
that had the aspect of graves, but were not; although
over and all about them the rue and rosemary clam-
1 Florem putares nare per liquidum arthera. —P. Commire.


198 TALES.
bered. The shade of the trees fell heavily upon the
water, and seemed to bury itself therein, impregnating
the depths of the element with darkness. I fancied
that each shadow, as the sun descended lower and
lower, separated itself sullenly from the trunk that gave
it birth, and thus became absorbed by the stream;
while other shadows issued momently from the trees,
taking the place of their predecessors thus entombed.
This idea, having once seized upon my fancy, greatly
excited it, and I lost myself forthwith in reverie. "If
ever island were enchanted," — said I to myself —
'' this is it. This is the haunt of the few gentle Fays
who remain from the wreck of the race. Are these
green tombs theirs ? — or do they yield up their sweet
lives as mankind yield up their own ? , In dying, do
they not rather waste away mournfully; rendering unto
God little by little their existence, as these trees render
up shadow after shadow, exhausting their substance unto
dissolution? What the wasting tree is to the water
that imbibes its shade, growing thus blacker by what it
preys upon, may not the life of the Fay be to the death
which engulfs it?"
As I thus mused, with half-shut eyes, while the sun
sank rapidly to rest, and eddying currents careered
round and round the island, bearing upon their bosom
large, dazzling, white flakes of the bark of the syca-
more — flakes which, in their multiform positions upon
the water, a quick imagination might have converted
into anything it pleased — while I thus mused, it ap-
peared to me that the form of one of those very Fays
about whom I had been pondering, made its way slowly
into the darkness from out the light at the western end
of the island. She stood erect, in a singularly fragile
canoe, and urged it with the mere phantom of an oar.


THE ISLAND OF THE FAY. 199
While within the influence of the lingering sunbeams,
her attitude seemed indicative of joy — but sorrow de-
formed it as she passed within the shade. Slowly she
glided along, and at length rounded the islet and re-
entered the region of light. "The revolution which
has just been made by the Fay," continued I mus-
ingly— "is the cycle of the brief year of her life.
She has floated through her winter and through her
summer. She is a year nearer unto Death: for I did
not fail to see that as she came into the shade, her shadow
fell from her, and was swallowed up in the dark water,
making its blackness more black."
And again the boat appeared, and the Fay; but
about the attitude of the latter there was more of care
and uncertainty, and less of elastic joy. She floated
again from out the light, and into the gloom (which
deepened momently) and again her shadow fell from
her into the ebony water, and became absorbed into its
blackness. And again and again she made the circuit
of the island, (while the sun rushed down to his slum-
bers) and at each issuing into the light, there was more
sorrow about her person, while it grew feebler, and far
fainter, and more indistinct; and at each passage into
the gloom, there fell from her a darker shade, which
became whelmed in a shadow more black. But at
length, when the sun had utterly departed, the Fay,
now the mere ghost of her former self, went disconso-
lately with her boat into the region of the ebony flood,
— and that she issued thence at all I cannot say, —
for darkness fell over all things, and I beheld her
magical figure no more.


THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS
AND UNA.
[Graham's Magazine, August, 1841; 1845.]
MlXXorra toCto'
Sophocles — Aniig. [1334].
These things are in the future.
Una. "Born again?"
Monos. Yes, fairest and best-beloved Una, "born
again." These were the words upon whose mystical
meaning I had so long pondered, rejecting the expla-
nations of the priesthood, until Death himself resolved
for me the secret.
Una. Death!
Monos. How strangely, sweet Una, you echo my
words! I observe, too, a vacillation in your step — a
joyous inquietude in your eyes. You are confused and
oppressed by the majestic novelty of the Life Eternal.
Yes, it was of Death I spoke. And here how singu-
larly sounds that word which of old was wont to
bring terror to all hearts — throwing a mildew upon
all pleasures!
Una. Ah, Death, the spectre which sate at all
feasts! How often, Monos, did we lose ourselves in
speculations upon its nature! How mysteriously did
it act as a check to human bliss — saying unto it "thus
far, and no farther!" That earnest mutual love, my
200


THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA. 201
own Monos, which burned within our bosoms — how
vainly did we flatter ourselves, feeling happy in its first
up-springing, that our happiness would strengthen with
its strength! Alas! as it grew, so grew in our hearts
the dread of that evil hour which was hurrying to sepa-
rate us forever! Thus, in time, it became painful to
love. Hate would have been mercy then.
Monos. Speak not here of these griefs, dear Una
— mine, mine forever now!
Una. But the memory of past sorrow — is it not
present joy? I have much to say yet of the things
which have been. Above all, I burn to know the
incidents of your own passage through the dark Valley
and Shadow.
Monos. And when did the radiant Una ask any-
thing of her Monos in vain? I will be minute in
relating all — but at what point shall the weird nar-
rative begin?
Una. At what point?
Monos. You have said.
Una. Monos, \ comprehend you. In Death we
have both learned the propensity of man to define the
indefinable. I will not say, then, commence with the
moment of life's cessation—but commence with that
sad, sad instant when, the fever having abandoned you,
you sank into a breathless and motionless torpor, and I
pressed down your pallid eyelids with the passionate
fingers of love.
Monos. One word first, my Una, in regard to
man's general condition at this epoch. You will
remember that one or two of the wise among our
forefathers — wise in fact, although not in the world's
esteem — had ventured to doubt the propriety of the
term "improvement," as applied to the progress of


202 TALES.
our civilization. There were periods in each of the
five or six centuries immediately preceding our dissolu-
tion, when arose some vigorous intellect, boldly con-
tending for those principles whose truth appears now,
to our disenfranchised reason, so utterly obvious —
principles which should have taught our race to submit
to the guidance of the natural laws, rather than attempt
their control. At long intervals some master-minds
appeared, looking upon each advance in practical science
as a retro-gradation in the true utility. Occasionally
the poetic intellect — that intellect which we now feel
to have been the most exalted of all — since those truths
which to us were of the most enduring importance could
only be reached by that analogy which speaks in proof-
tones to the imagination alone, and to the unaided
reason bears no weight — occasionally did this poetic
intellect proceed a step farther in the evolving of the
vague idea of the philosophic, and find in the mystic
parable that tells of the tree of knowledge, and of its
forbidden fruit, death-producing, a distinct intimation
that knowledge was not meet for man in the infant
condition of his soul. And these men — the poets —
living and perishing amid the scorn of the " utilitarians"
— of rough pedants, who arrogated to themselves a
title which could have been properly applied only to
the scorned — these men, the poets, pondered piningly,
yet not unwisely, upon the ancient days when our
wants were not more simple than our enjoyments were
keen — days when mirth was a word unknown, so
solemnly deep-toned was happiness — holy, august and
blissful days, when blue rivers ran undammed, be-
tween hills unhewn, into far forest solitudes, primaeval,
odorous, and unexplored.
Yet these noble exceptions from the general mis-


THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA. 203
rule served but to strengthen it by opposition. Alas!
we had fallen upon the most evil of all our evil days.
The great "movement"—that was the cant term —
went on: a diseased commotion, moral and physical.
Art — the Arts — arose supreme, and, once enthroned,
cast chains upon the intellect which had elevated them
to power. Man, because he could not but acknowl-
edge the majesty of Nature, fell into childish exulta-
tion at his acquired and still-increasing dominion over
her elements. Even while he stalked a God in his
own fancy, an infantine imbecility came over him. As
might be supposed from the origin of his disorder, he
grew infected with system, and with abstraction. He
enwrapped himself in generalities. Among other odd
ideas, that of universal equality gained ground; and
in the face of analogy and of God — in despite of the
loud warning voice of the laws of gradation so visibly
pervading all things in Earth and Heaven — wild at-
tempts at an omni-prevalent Democracy were made.
Yet this evil sprang necessarily from the leading evil,
Knowledge. Man could not both know and succumb.
Meantime huge smoking cities arose, innumerable.
Green leaves shrank before the hot breath of furnaces.
The fair face of Nature was deformed as with the
ravages of some loathsome disease. And methinks,
sweet Una, even our slumbering sense of the forced
and of the far-fetched might have arrested us here.
But now it appears that we had worked out our own
destruction in the perversion of our taste, or rather in
the blind neglect of its culture in the schools. For,
in truth, it was at this crisis that taste alone — that
faculty which, holding a middle position between the
pure intellect and the moral sense, could never safely
have been disregarded — it was now that taste alone


204 TALES.
could have led us gently back to Beauty, to Nature,
and to Life. But alas for the pure contemplative
spirit and majestic intuition of Plato! Alas for the
HovTLK-i'i which he justly regarded as an all-sufficient
education for the soul! Alas for him and for it !—
since both were so desperately needed when both
were most entirely forgotten or despised.1
Pascal, a philosopher whom we both love, has said,
how truly !— " que tout notre raisonnement se riduit
a cider au sentiment;" and it is not impossible that
the sentiment of the natural, had time permitted it,
would have regained its old ascendancy over the harsh
mathematical reason of the schools. But this thing
was not to be. Prematurely induced by intemperance
of knowledge, the old age of the world drew on.
This the mass of mankind saw not, or, living lustily
although unhappily, affected not to see. But, for my-
self, the Earth's records had taught me to look for
widest ruin as the price of highest civilization. I had
1 " It will be hard to discover a better [method of education]
than that which the experience of so many ages has already dis-
covered; and this may be summed up as consisting in gymnastics
for the body, and music for the toul." -—- Repub. lib. 2. "For
this reason is a musical education most essential; since it causes
Rhythm and Harmony to penetrate most intimately into the soul,
taking the strongest hold upon it, filling it with beauty and making
the man beautiful-minded. . . . He will praise and admire ihe
beautiful; will receive it with joy into his soul, will feed upon it,
and assimilate bis oiun condition iuitb is."— Ibid. lib. 3. Music
(fwvtradi) had, however, among the Athenians, a far more com-
prehensive signification than with us. It included not only the
harmonies of time and of tune, but the poetic diction, sentiment,
and creation, each in its widest sense. The study of music was
with them, in fact, the general cultivation of the taste — of that
which recognises the beautiful — in contra-distinction from reason,
which deals only wilh the true.


THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA. 205
imbibed a prescience of our Fate from comparison of
China the simple and enduring, with Assyria the archi-
tect, with Egypt the astrologer, with Nubia, more
crafty than either, the turbulent mother of all Arts.
In history 1 of these regions I met with a ray from the
Future. The individual artificialities of the three latter
were local diseases of the Earth, and in their indi-
vidual overthrows we had seen local remedies applied;
but for the infected world at large I could anticipate
no regeneration save in death. That man, as a race,
should not become extinct, I saw that he must be
"born again."
And now it was, fairest and dearest, that we
wiapped our spirits, daily, in dreams. Now it was
that, in twilight, we discoursed of the days to come,
when the Art-scarred surface of the Earth, having
undergone that purification2 which alone could efface
its rectangular obscenities, should clothe itself anew in
the verdure and the mountain-slopes and the smiling
waters of Paradise, and be rendered at length a
fit dwelling-place for man : — for man the Death-
purged— for man to whose now exalted intellect
there should be poison in knowledge no more — for
the redeemed, regenerated, blissful, and now immortal,
but still for the material, man.
Una. Well do I remember these conversations,
dear Monos; but the epoch of the fiery overthrow
was not so near at hand as we believed, and as the
corruption you indicate did surely warrant us in be-
lieving. Men lived; and died individually. You
yourself sickened, and passed into the grave; and
1 " History," from laropeir, to contemplate.
*The word ''purificaiion" seems here to be used with refer-
ence to its root in the Greek wOp, fire.


206 TALES.
thither your constant Una speedily followed you.
And though the century which has since elapsed, and
whose conclusion brings us thus together once more,
tortured our slumbering senses with no impatience of
duration, yet, my Monos, it was a century still.
Monos. Say, rather, a point in the vague infinity.
Unquestionably, it was in the Earth's dotage that J
died. Wearied at heart with anxieties which had
their origin in the general turmoil and decay, I suc-
cumbed to the fierce fever. After some few days of
pain, and many of dreamy delirium replete with
ecstasy, the manifestations of which you mistook for
pain, while I longed but was impotent to undeceive
you — after some days there came upon me, as you
have said, a breathless and motionless torpor; and
this was termed Death by those who stood around me.
Words are vague things. My condition did not de-
prive me of sentience. It appeared to me not greatly
dissimilar to the extreme quiescence of him, who, hav-
ing slumbered long and profoundly, lying motionless and
fully prostrate in a midsummer noon, begins to steal
slowly back into consciousness, through the mere suffi-
ciency of his sleep, and without being awakened by
external disturbances.
I breathed no longer. The pulses were still. The
heart had ceased to beat. Volition had not departed,
but was powerless. The senses were unusually active,
although eccentrically so — assuming often each other's
functions at random. The taste and the smell were
inextricably confounded, and became one sentiment,
abnormal and intense. The rose-water with which
your tenderness had moistened my lips to the last,
affected me with sweet fancies of flowers — fantastic
flowers, far more lovely than any of the old Earth,


THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA. 207
but whose prototypes we have here blooming around
us. The eyelids, transparent and bloodless, offered
no complete impediment to vision. As volition was
in abeyance, the balls could not roll in their sockets —
but all objects within the range of the visual hemisphere
were seen with more or less distinctness; the rays
which fell upon the external retina, or into the corner
of the eye, producing a more vivid effect than those
which struck the front or interior surface. Yet, in the
former instance, this effect was so far anomalous that I
appreciated it only as sound—sound sweet or discordant
as the matters presenting themselves at my side were
light or dark in shade — curved or angular in outline.
The hearing, at the same time, although excited in
degree, was not irregular in action — estimating real
sounds with an extravagance of precision, not less than
of sensibility. Touch had undergone a modification
more peculiar. Its impressions were tardily received,
but pertinaciously retained, and resulted always in the
highest physical pleasure. Thus the pressure of your
sweet fingers upon my eyelids, at first only recognised
through vision, at length, long after their removal, filled
my whole being with a sensual delight immeasurable.
I say with a sensual delight. All my perceptions were
purely sensual. The materials furnished the passive
brain by the senses were not in the least degree wrought
into shape by the deceased understanding. Of pain
there was some little; of pleasure there was much;
but of moral pain or pleasure none at all. Thus your
wild sobs floated into my ear with all their mournful
cadences, and were appreciated in their every variation
of sad tone; but they were soft musical sounds and no
more; they conveyed to the extinct reason no intima-
tion of the sorrows which gave them birth; while the


208 TALES.
large and constant tears which fell upon my face, tell-
ing the bystanders of a heart which broke, thrilled
every fibre of my frame with ecstasy alone. And this
was in truth the Death of which these bystanders spoke
reverently, in low whispers — you, sweet Una, gasp-
ingly, with loud cries.
They attired me for the coffin — three or four dark
figures which flitted busily to and fro. As these
crossed the direct line of my vision, they affected me as
forms; but upon passing to my side their images
impressed me with the idea of shrieks, groans, and
other dismal expressions of terror, of horror, or of woe.
You alone, habited in a white robe, passed in all direc-
tions musically about me.
The day waned; and, as its light faded away,
I became possessed by a vague uneasiness — an anxiety
such as the sleeper feels when sad real sounds fall con-
tinuously within his ear — low distant bell-tones,
solemn, at long but equal intervals, and commingling
with melancholy dreams. Night arrived ; and with its
shadows a heavy discomfort. It oppressed my limbs
with the oppression of some dull weight, and was pal-
pable. There was also a moaning sound, not unlike
the distant reverberation of surf, but more continuous,
which, beginning with the first twilight, had grown in
strength with the darkness. Suddenly lights were
brought into the room, and this reverberation became
forthwith interrupted into frequent unequal bursts of the
same sound, but less dreary and less distinct. The
ponderous oppression was in a great measure relieved;
and, issuing from the flame of each lamp, (for there
were many,) there flowed unbrokenly into my ears a
strain of melodious monotone. And when now, dear
Una, approaching the bed upon which I lay out-


THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA. 20Q
stretched, you sat gently by my side, breathing odor
from your sweet lips, and pressing them upon my brow,
there arose tremulously within my bosom, and min-
gling with the merely physical sensations which circum-
stances had called forth, a something akin to sentiment
itself.— a feeling that, half appreciating, half responded
to your earnest love and sorrow; but this feeling took
no root in the pulseless heart, and seemed indeed rather
a shadow than a reality, and faded quickly away, first
into extreme quiescence, and then into a purely sensual
pleasure as before.
And now, from the wreck and the chaos of the usual
senses, there appeared to have arisen within me a sixth,
all perfect. In its exercise I found a wild delight —
vet a delight still physical, inasmuch as the understand-
ing had in it no part. Motion in the animal frame
had fully ceased. No muscle quivered; no nerve
thrilled; no artery throbbed. But there seemed to
have sprung up in the brain, that of which no words
could convey to the merely human intelligence even an
indistinct conception. Let me term it a mental pen-
dulous pulsation. It was the moral embodiment of
man's abstract idea of Time. By the absolute equali-
zation of this movement — or of such as this — had the
cycles of the firmamemal orbs themselves, been adjusted.
By its aid I measured the irregularities of the clock upon
the mantel, and of the watches of the attendants. Their
tickings came sonorously to my ears. The slightest
deviations from the true proportion — and these devia-
tions were omni-praevalent — affected me just as viola-
tions of abstract truth were wont, on earth, to affect
the moral sense. Although no two of the time-pieces
in the chamber struck the individual seconds accurately
together, yet I had no difficulty in holding steadily in
vol. iv. —14


2 IO TALES.
mind the tones and the respective momentary errors
of each. And this—this keen, perfect, self-existing
sentiment of duration — this sentiment existing (as man
could not possibly have conceived it to exist) indepen-
dently of any succession of events—this idea — this
sixth sense, upspringing from the ashes of the rest, was
the first obvious and certain step of the intemporal soul
upon the threshold of the temporal Eternity.
It was midnight; and you still sat by my side. All
others had departed from the chamber of Death. They
had deposited me in the coffin. The lamps burned
flickeringly ; for this I knew by the tremulousness of
the monotonous strains. But, suddenly these strains
diminished in distinctness and in volume. Finally they
ceased. The perfume in my nostrils died away.
Forms affected my vision no longer. The oppression
of the Darkness uplifted itself from my bosom. A dull
shock like that of electricity pervaded my frame, and
was followed by total loss of the idea of contact. All
of what man has termed sense was merged in the sole
consciousness of entity, and in the one abiding senti-
ment of duration. The mortal body had been at
length stricken with the hand of the deadly Decay.
Yet had not all sentience departed ; for the conscious-
ness and the sentiment remaining supplied some of its
functions by a lethargic intuition. I appreciated the
direful change now in operation upon the flesh, and, as
the dreamer is sometimes aware of the bodily presence
of one who leans over him, so, sweet Una, I still dully
felt that you sat by my side. So, too, when the noon
of the second day came, I was not unconscious of those
movements which displaced you from my side, which
confined me within the coffin, which deposited me
within the hearse, which bore me to the grave, which


THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA. 211
lowered me within it, which heaped heavily the mould
upon me, and which thus left me, in blackness and
corruption, to my sad and solemn slumbers with the
worm.
And here, in the prison-house which has few secrets
to disclose, there rolled away days and weeks and
months; and the soul watched narrowly each second
as it flew, and, without effort, took record of its flight
— without effort and without object.
A year passed. The consciousness of being had
grown hourly more indistinct, and that of mere locality
had, in great measure, usurped its position. The idea
of entity was becoming merged in that of place. The
narrow space immediately surrounding what had been
the body, was now growing to be the body itself. At
length, as often happens to the sleeper (by sleep and
its world alone is Death imaged) —at length, as some-
times happened on Earth to the deep slumberer, when
some flitting light half startled him into awaking, yet
left him half enveloped in dreams — so to me, in the
strict embrace of the Shadow, came that light which
alone might have had power to startle — the light of
enduring Love. Men toiled at the grave in which I
lay darkling. They upthrew the damp earth. Upon
my mouldering bones there descended the coffin of
Una.
And now again all was void. That nebulous light
had been extinguished. That feeble thrill had vibrated
itself into quiescence. Many lustra had supervened.
Dust had returned to dust. The worm had food no
more. The sense of being had at length utterly de-
parted, and there reigned in its stead — instead of all
things — dominant and perpetual — the autocrats Place
and Time. For that which teas not — for that which


212 TALES.
had no form—for that which had no thought—for
that which had no sentience — for that which was
soulless, yet of which matter formed no portion —
for all this nothingness, yet for all this immortality,
the grave was still a home, and the corrosive hours,
co-mates.


NEVER BET THE DEVIL
YOUR HEAD.
A TALE WITH A MORAL.
[Graham's Magazine, September, 1841; Broadway
Journal, II. 6.]
"Con tal que las costumbres de un autor," says
Don Thomas De Las Torres, in the preface to his
"Amatory Poems," "sean p'tras y castas, importa muy
poco que no sean igualmeute sever as sus oiras" —
meaning, in plain English, that, provided the morals
of an author are pure, personally, it signifies nothing
what are the morals of his books. We presume that
Don Thomas is now in Purgatory for the assertion. It
would be a clever thing, too, in the way of poetical
justice, to keep him there until his "Amatory Poems"
get out of print, or are laid definitely upon the shelf
through lack of readers. Every fiction sboul'd have a
moral; and, what is more to the purpose, the critics
have discovered that every fiction has. Philip Melanc-
thon, some time ago, wrote a commentary upon the
"Batrachomyomachia" and proved that the poet's object
was to excite a distaste for sedition. Pierre La Seine,
?oing a step farther, shows that the intention was to
recommend to young men temperance in eating and
drinking. Just so, too. Jacobus Hugo has satisfied
himself that, by Euenis, Homer meant to insinuate
213


214 TALES.
John Calvin; by Antinous, Martin Luther; by the
Lotophagi, Protestants in general; and, by the Har-
pies, the Dutch. Our more modern Scholiasts are
equally acute. These fellows demonstrate a hidden
meaning in "The Antediluvians," a parable in "Pow-
hatan," new views in " Cock Robin " and transcenden-
talism in "Hop O' My Thumb." In short, it has
been shown that no man can sit down to write without
a very profound design. Thus to authors in general
much trouble is spared. A novelist, for example, need
have no care of his moral. It is there — that is to
say it is somewhere — and the moral and the critics
can take care of themselves. When the proper time
arrives, all that the gentleman intended, and all that
he did not intend, will be brought to light, in the
"Dial," or the " Down-Easter," together with all that
he ought to have intended, and the rest that he clearly
meant to intend : — so that it will all come very straight
in the end.
There is no just ground, therefore, for the charge
brought against me by certain ignoramuses — that I
have never written a moral tale, or, in more precise
words, a tale with a moral. They are not the critics
predestined to bring me out, and develop my morals : —
that is the secret. By and by the "North American
Quarterly Humdrum" will make them ashamed of
their stupidity. In the meantime, by way of staying
execution — by way of mitigating the accusations
against me — I offer the sad history appended ;— a
history about whose obvious moral there can be no
question whatever, since he who runs may read it in
the large capitals which form the title of the tale. I
should have credit for this arrangement — a far wiser
one than that of La Fontaine and others, who reserve


NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD. 215
the impression to be conveyed until the last moment,
and thus sneak it in at the fag end of their fables.
Defuncti injuria ne afficiantur was a law of the
twelve tables, and De mortuis nil nisi bonum is an ex-
cellent injunction — even if the dead in question be
nothing but dead small beer. It is not my design,
therefore, to vituperate my deceased friend, Toby Dam-
mit. He was a sad dog, it is true, and a dog's death
it was that he died; but he himself was not to blame
for his vices. They grew out of a personal defect in
his mother. She did her best in the way of flogging
him while an infant — for duties to her well-regulated
mind were always pleasures, and babies, like tough
steaks, or the modern Greek olive trees, are invariably
the better for beating — but, poor woman ! she had the
misfortune to be left-handed, and a child flogged left-
handedly had better be left unflogged. The world
revolves from right to left. It will not do to whip a
baby from left to right. If each blow in the proper
direction drives an evil propensity out, it follows that
every thump in an opposite one knocks its quota of
wickedness in. I was often present at Toby's chas-
tisements, and, even by the way in which he kicked, I
could perceive that he was getting worse and worse
every day. At last I saw, through the tears in my
eyes, that there was no hope of the villain at all, and
one day when he had been cuffed until he grew so
black in the face that one might have mistaken him for
a little African, and no effect had been produced beyond
that of making him wriggle himself into a fit, I could
stand it no longer, but went down upon my knees
forthwith, and, uplifting my voice, made prophecy of
his ruin.
The fact is that his precocity in vice was awful. At


2l6 TALES.
five months of age he used to get into such passions
that he was unable to articulate. At six months, I
caught him gnawing a pack of cards. At seven months
he was in the constant habit of catching and kissing the
female babies. At eight months he peremptorily refused
to put his signature to the Temperance pledge. Thus
he went on increasing in iniquity, month after month,
until, at the close of the first year, he not only insisted
upon wearing moustaches, but had contracted a pro-
pensity for cursing and swearing, and for backing his
assertions by bets.
Through this latter most ungentlemanly practice, the
ruin which I had predicted to Toby Dammit overtook
him at last. The fashion had "grown with his
growth and strengthened with his strength," so that,
when he came to be a man, he could scarcely utter a
sentence without interlarding it with a proposition to
gamble. Not that he actually laid wagers — no. I
will do my friend the justice to say that he would as
soon have laid eggs. With him the thing was a mere
formula — nothing more. His expressions on this
head had no meaning attached to them whatever.
They were simple if not altogether innocent expletives
— imaginative phrases wherewith to round off a sen-
tence. When he said "I'll bet you so and so,"
nobody ever thought of taking him up; but still I
could not help thinking it my duty to put him down.
The habit was an immoral one, and so I told him. It
was a vulgar one — this I begged him to believe. It
was discountenanced by society — here I said nothing
but the truth. It was forbidden by act of Congress —
here I had not the slightest intention of telling a lie. I
remonstrated — but to no purpose. I demonstrated —
in vain. I entreated — he smiled. I implored — he


NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD. 217
laughed. I preached — he sneered. I threatened —
he swore. I kicked him — he called for the police.
I pulled his nose — he blew it, and offered to bet the
Devil his head that I would not venture to try that
experiment again.
Poverty was another vice which the peculiar physical
deficiency of Dammit' s mother had entailed upon her
son. He was detestably poor; and this was the
reason, no doubt, that his expletive expressions about
betting seldom took a pecuniary turn. I will not be
bound to say that I ever heard him make use of such a
figure of speech as "I'll bet you a dollar." It was
usually "I'll bet you what you please," or "I'll bet
you what you dare," or "I'll bet you a trifle," or
else, more significantly still, "/'// bet the Devil my
bead."
This latter form seemed to please him best: — per-
haps because it involved the least risk; for Dammit
had become excessively parsimonious. Had any one
taken him up, his head was small, and thus his loss
would have been small too. But these are my own
reflections, and I am by no means sure that I am right
in attributing them to him. At all events the phrase
in question grew daily in favor, notwithstanding the
gross impropriety of a man betting his brains like bank-
notes : — but this was a point which my friend's
perversity of disposition would not permit him to
comprehend. In the end, he abandoned all other
forms of wager, and gave himself up to " /'// bet the
Devil my bead,'' with a pertinacity and exclusiveness
of devotion that displeased not less than it surprised
me. I am always displeased by circumstances for
which I cannot account. Mysteries force a man to
think, and so injure his health. The truth is, there


2l8 TALES.
was something in the air with which Mr. Dammit
was wont to give utterance to his offensive expression
— something in his manner of enunciation — which at
first interested, and afterwards made me very uneasy —
something which, for want of a more definite term at
present, I must be permitted to call queer; but which
Mr. Coleridge would have called mystical, Mr. Kant
pantheistical, Mr. Carlyle twistical, and Mr. Emerson
hyperquizzitistical. I began not to like it at all. Mr.
Dammit's soul was in a perilous state. I resolved to
bring all my eloquence into play to save it. I vowed
to serve him as St. Patrick, in the Irish chronicle, is
said to have served the toad, that is to say, "awaken
him to a sense of his situation." I addressed myself
to the task forthwith. Once more I betook myself to
remonstrance. Again I collected my energies for a
final attempt at expostulation.
When I had made an end of my lecture, Mr. Dam-
mit indulged himself in some very equivocal behaviour.
For some moments he remained silent, merely looking
me inquisitively in the face. But presently he threw
his head to one side, and elevated his eyebrows to great
extent. Then he spread out the palms of his hands
and shrugged up his shoulders. Then he winked with
the right eye. Then he repeated the operation with
the left. Then he shut them both up very tight.
Then he opened them both so very wide that I became
seriously alarmed for the consequences. Then, apply-
ing his thumb to his nose, he thought proper to
make an indescribable movement with the rest of his
fingers. Finally, setting his arms a-kimbo, he conde-
scended to reply.
I can call to mind only the heads of his discourse.
He would be obliged to me if I would hold my


NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD. 219
tongue. He wished none of my advice. He despised
all my insinuations. He was old enough to take care
of himself. Did I still think him baby Dammit? Did
I mean to say anything against his character? Did I
intend to insult him? Was I a fool? Was my
maternal parent aware, in a word, of my absence from
the domiciliary residence? He would put this latter
question to me as to a man of veracity, and he would
bind himself to abide by my reply. Once more he
would demand explicitly if my mother knew that 1
was out. My confusion, he said, betrayed me, and
he would be willing to bet the Devil his head that she
did not.
Mr. Dammit did not pause for my rejoinder. Turn-
ing upon his heel, he left my presence with undignified
precipitation. It was well for him that he did so. My
feelings had been wounded. Even my anger had been
aroused. For once I would have taken him up upon
his insulting wager. I would have won for the Arch-
Enemy Mr. Dammit's little head — for the fact is, my
mamma teas very well aware of my merely temporary
absence from home.
But Kboda sbefa midebed— Heaven gives relief —
as the Musselmen say when you tread upon their toes.
It was in pursuance of my duty that I had been in-
sulted, and I bore the insult like a man. It now
seemed to me, however, that I had done all that could
be required of me, in the case of this miserable indi-
vidual, and I resolved to trouble him no longer with my
counsel, but to leave him to his conscience and him-
self. But although I forebore to intrude with my
advice, I could not bring myself to give up his society
altogether. I even went so far as to humor some of
his less reprehensible propensities; and there were


220 TALES.
times when I found myself lauding his wicked jokes, as
epicures do mustard, with tears in my eyes : — so pro-
foundly did it grieve me to hear his evil talk.
One fine day, having strolled out together arm in
arm, our route led us in the direction of a river.
There was a bridge, and we resolved to cross it. It
was roofed over, by way of protection from the
weather, and the arch-way, having but few windows,
was thus very uncomfortably dark. As we entered the
passage, the contrast between the external glare, and
the interior gloom, struck heavily upon my spirits. Not
so upon those of the unhappy Dammit, who offered to
bet the Devil his head that I was hipped. He seemed
to be in an unusual good humor. He was excessively
lively — so much so that I entertained I know not what
of uneasy suspicion. It is not impossible that he was
affected with the transcendentals. I am not well
enough versed, however, in the diagnosis of this disease to
speak with decision upon the point; and unhappily there
were none of my friends of the "Dial" present. I
suggest the idea, nevertheless, because of a certain species
of austere Merry-Andrewism which seemed to beset
my poor friend, and caused him to make quite a Tom-
Fool of himself. Nothing would serve him but wrig-
gling and skipping about under and over everything
that came in his way; now shouting out, and now
lisping out, all manner of odd little and big words, yet
preserving the gravest face in the world all the time. I
really could not make up my mind whether to kick or
to pity him. At length, having passed nearly across
the bridge, we approached the termination of the foot-
way, when our progress was impeded by a turnstile of
some height. Through this I made my way quietly,
pushing it around as usual. But this turn would


NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD. 221
not serve the turn of Mr. Dammit. He insisted
upon leaping the stile, and said he could cut a pigeon-
wing over it in the air. Now this, conscientiously
speaking, I did not think he could do. The best
pigeon-winger over all kinds of style, was my friend
Mr. Carlyle, and as I knew be could not do it, 1
would not believe that it could be done by Toby Dam-
mit. I therefore told him, in so many words, that he
was a braggadocio, and could not do what he said. For
this, I had reason to be sorry afterwards ; — for he
straightway offered to bet the Devil his head that he
could.
I was about to reply, notwithstanding my previous
resolutions, with some remonstrance against his impiety,
when I heard, close at my elbow, a slight cough,
which sounded very much like the ejaculation "abem!"
I started, and looked about me in surprise. My glance
at length fell into a nook of the frame-work of the
bridge, and upon the figure of a little lame old gentle-
man of venerable aspect. Nothing could be more
reverend than his whole appearance; for, he not only
had on a full suit of black, but his shirt was perfectly
clean and the collar turned very neatly down over a
white cravat, while his hair was parted in front like
a girl's. His hands were clasped pensively together
over his stomach, and his two eyes were carefully
rolled up into the top of his head.
Upon observing him more closely, I perceived that
he wore a black silk apron over his small-clothes; and
this was a thing which I thought very odd. Before I
had time to make any remark, however, upon so sin-
gular a circumstance, he interrupted me with a second
"abem!"
To this observation I was not immediately prepared


222 TALES.
to reply. The faet is, remarks of this laconic nature
are nearly unanswerable. 1 have known a Quarterly
Review non-plused by the word "Fudge!" 1 am
not ashamed to say, therefore, that 1 turned to Mr.
Dammit for assistance.
"Dammit," said I, "what are you about? don't
you hear ? — the gentleman says 'abem !'" 1 looked
sternly at my friend while I thus addressed him; for
to say the truth, I felt particularly puzzled, and when
a man is particularly puzzled he must knit his brows
and look savage, or else he is pretty sure to look like a
fool.
"Dammit," observed I — although this sounded
very much like an oath, than which nothing was farther
from my thoughts — " Dammit," I suggested — " the
gentleman says 'ahem!'"
I do not attempt to defend my remark on the score
of profundity; 1 did not think it profound myself; but
1 have noticed that the effect of our speeches is not
always proportionate with their importance in our own
eyes; and if I had shot Mr. D. through and through
with a Paixhan bomb, or knocked him in the head
with the " Poets and Poetry of America," he could
hardly have been more discomfited than when I
addressed him with those simple words — "Dammit,
what are you about ? —don't you hear ?— the gentle-
man says 'abem!'"
"You don't say so?" gasped he at length, after
turning more colors than a pirate runs up, one after
the other, when chased by a man-of-war. "Are you
quite sure he said that? Well, at all events I am in
for it now, and may as well put a bold face upon the
matter. Here goes, then—abem!''
At this the little old gentleman seemed pleased —


NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD. 223
God only knows why. He left his station at the nook
of the bridge, limped forward with a gracious air, took
Dammit by the hand and shook it cordially, looking all
the while straight up in his face with an air of the most
unadulterated benignity which it is possible for the mind
of man to imagine.
"I am quite sure you will win it, Dammit," said
he with the frankest of all smiles, "but we are
obliged to have a trial you know, for the sake of mere
form."
"Ahem!" replied my friend, taking off his coat
with a deep sigh, tying a pocket-handkerchief around
his waist, and producing an unaccountable alteration in
his countenance by twisting up his eyes, and bringing
down the corners of his mouth — " ahem!" And
"ahem," said he again, after a pause; and not another
word more than "ahem !" did I ever know him to
say after that. "Aha!" thought I, without express-
ing myself aloud — " this is quite a remarkable silence
on the part of Toby Dammit, and is no doubt a con-
sequence of his verbosity upon a previous occasion.
One extreme induces another. I wonder if he has
forgotten the many unanswerable questions which he
propounded to me so fluently on the day when I gave
him my last lecture? At all events, he is cured of the
transcendentals."
"Ahem!" here replied Toby, just as if he had
been reading my thoughts, and looking like a very old
sheep in a reverie.
The old gentleman now took him by the arm, and
led him more into the shade of the bridge — a few paces
back from the turnstile. "My good fellow," said he,
"I make it a point of conscience to allow you this
much run. Wait here, till I take my place by the stile,


224 TALKS.
so chat I may see whether you go orer it handsomely,
and transcendencally, and don't omit any flourishes of
the pigeon-wing. A mere form, you know. I will
say 'one, two, three, and away.' Mind you start at
the word ' away.'" Here he took his position by the
stile, paused a moment as if in profound reflection, then
baked up and, I thought, smiled very slightly, then
tightened the strings of his apron, then took a long look
at Dammit, and finally gave the word as agreed upon —
Owe — tan — ibree — and mxoay I
Punctually, at the word "away," my poor friend
set off in a strong gallop. The stile was not very high,
like Mr. Lord's — nor yet very low, like that of Mr.
Lord's reviewers, but upon the whole I made sure that
he would clear it. And then what if he did not ?— ah,
that was the question — what if he did not ?" What
right," said I, "had the old gentleman to make any
other gentleman jump? The little old dot-and-cany-
one! who is be? If he asks me to jump, I won't do
it, that's flat, and I don't care who the devil he is."
The bridge, as I say, was arched and covered in, in a
very ridiculous manner, and there was a most uncom-
fortable echo about it at all times — an echo which I
never before so particularly observed as when I uttered
the four last words of my remark.
But what I said, or what I thought, or what I heard,
occupied onlv an instant. In less than five seconds
from his starting, my poor Toby had taken the leap.
I saw him run nimbly, and spring grandly from the
floor of the bridge, cutting the most awful flourishes
with his legs as he went up. I saw him high in the
aif. pigeon-winging it to admiration just over the top


NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD. 225
of the stile; and of course I thought it an unusually
singular thing that he did not continue to go over. But
the whole leap was the affair of a moment, and, before
I had a chance to make any profound reflections, down
came Mr. Dammit on the flat of his back, on the same
side of the stile from which he had started. In the same
instant I saw the old gentleman limping off at the top
of his speed, having caught and wrapped up in his apron
something that fell heavily into it from the darkness of
the arch just over the turnstile. At all this I was much
astonished; but I had no leisure to think, for Mr. Dam-
mit lay particularly still, and I concluded that his feel-
ings had been hurt, and that he stood in need of my
assistance. I hurried up to him and found that he had
received what might be termed a serious injury. The
truth is, he had been deprived of his head, which after
a close search I could not find anywhere ; — so I de-
termined to take him home, and send for the homce-
opathists. In the mean time a thought struck me, and
I threw open an adjacent window of the bridge; when
the sad truth flashed upon me at once. About five feet
just above the top of the turnstile, and crossing the arch
of the foot-path so as to constitute a brace, there
extended a flat iron bar, lying with its breadth hori-
zontally, and forming one of a series that served to
strengthen the structure throughout its extent. With
the edge of this brace it appeared evident that the
neck of my unfortunate friend had come precisely in
contact.
He did not long survive his terrible loss. The
homceopathists did not give him little enough physic,
and what little they did give him he hesitated to take.
So in the end he grew worse, and at length died, a
lesson to all riotous livers. I bedewed his grave with
vol. iv.—15


226 TALES.
my tears, worked a bar sinister on his family escutcheon,
and, for the general expenses of his funeral, sent in my
very moderate bill to the transcendentalists. The
scoundrels refused to pay it, so 1 had Mr. Dammit dug
up at once, and sold him for dog's meat.


THREE SUNDAYS IN A
WEEK.
[Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post, November Z7,
1841 ; Broadway Journal, I. 19.]
"You hard-hearted, dunder-headed, obstinate, rusty,
crusty, musty, fusty, old savage!" said I in fancy,
one afternoon, to my grand uncle Rumgudgeon —
shaking my fist at him in imagination.
Only in imagination. The fact is, some trivial dis-
crepancy did exist, just then, between what I said and
what I had not the courage to say — between what I
did and what I had half a mind to do.
The old porpoise, as 1 opened the drawing-room
door, was sitting with his feet upon the mantel-piece,
and a bumper of port in his paw, making strenuous
efforts to accomplish the ditty,
Remplis ton verre vide!
Vide ton verre flein I
"My dear uncle," said I, closing the door gently,
and approaching him with the blandest of smiles,
"you are always so very kind and considerate, and
have evinced your benevolence in so many — so very
many ways — that — that I feel I have only to. sug-
gest this little point to you once more to make sure of
your full acquiescence."
227


228 TALES.
"Hem !" said he, "good boy ! go on!"
"I am sure, my dearest uncle [you confounded
old rascal !] that you have no design really, seriously,
to oppose my union with Kate. This is merely a
joke of yours, I know — ha! ha! ha !— how very
pleasant you are at times."
"Ha ! ha ! ha !" said he, "curse you! yes!"
"To be sure — of course! I knew you were jest-
ing. Now, uncle, all that Kate and myself wish at
present, is that you would oblige us with your advice
as — as regards the time —you know, uncle — in
short, when will it be most convenient for yourself,
that the wedding shall — shall — come off, you
know?"
"Come off, you scoundrel !— what do you mean
by that? Better wait till it goes on."
"Ha! ha! ha !— he! he! he !— hi! hi! hi!
— ho ! ho ! ho ! — hu! hu! hu !—oh, that's good!
— oh, that's capital —such a wit! But all we want,
just now, you know, uncle, is that you would indicate
the time precisely."
"Ah ! —precisely?"
"Yes, uncle—that is, if it would be quite agree-
able to yourself."
"Wouldn't it answer, Bobby, if I were to leave it
at random — some time within a year or so, for ex-
ample ? — must I say precisely?"
"Ifyou please, uncle — precisely."
"Well, then, Bobby, my boy — you're a fine
fellow, aren't you ?— since you will have the exact
time, I'll — why,I'll oblige you for once."
"Dear uncle!"
"Hush, sir!" [drowning my voice] — " I'll
oblige you for once. You shall have my consent —


THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK. 229
and the plum, we mus'n't forget the plum — let me
see! when shall it be? To-day's Sunday — isn't it?
Well, then, you shall be married precisely —preciselv,
now mind !— when three Sundays come together in a
week! Do you hear me, sir! What are you gaping
at? I say, you shall have Kate and her plum when
three Sundays come together in a week — but not till
then — you young scapegrace — not /;'// then, if I die
fat it. You know me— rm a man of my word—
now be off!" Here he swallowed his bumper of
port, while I rushed from the room in despair.
A very "fine old English gentleman," was my
grand-uncle Rumgudgeon, but unlike him of the song,
he had his weak points. He was a little, pursy, pom-
pous, passionate, semicircular somebody, with a red
nose, a thick scull, a long purse, and a strong sense of
his own consequence. With the best heart in the
world, he contrived, through a predominant whim of
contradiction, to earn for himself, among those who
only knew him superficially, the character of a cur-
mudgeon, like many excellent people, he seemed
possessed with a spirit of tantalization, which might
easily, at a casual glance, have been mistaken for ma-
levolence. To every request, a positive " No !" was
his immediate answer; but in the end — in the long,
long end — there were exceedingly few requests which
he refused. Against all attacks upon his purse he
made the most sturdy defence; but the amount ex-
torted from him at last was, generally, in direct ratio
with the length of the siege and the stubbornness of
the resistance. In charity no one gave more liberally
or with a worse grace.
For the fine arts, and especially for the belles lettres
he entertained a profound contempt. With this he


230 TALES.
had been inspired by Casimir Perier, whose pert little
query "A quoi un poite est-il bon?" he was in the
habit of quoting, with a very droll pronunciation, as
the ne plus ultra of logical wit. Thus my own ink-
ling for the Muses had excited his entire displeasure.
He assured me one day, when I asked him for a new
copy of Horace, that the translation of " Poet a nasci-
tur nonfit" was "a nasty poet for nothing fit" —a
remark which I took in high dudgeon. His repug-
nance to "the humanities" had, also, much increased
of late, by an accidental bias in favor of what he sup-
posed to be natural science. Somebody had accosted
him in the street, mistaking him for no less a personage
than Doctor Dubble L. Dee, the lecturer upon quack
physics. This set him off at a tangent; and just at
the epoch of this story — for story it is getting to be
after all — my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon was accessible
and pacific only upon points which happened to chime
in with the caprioles of the hobby he was riding. For
the rest, he laughed with his arms and legs, and his
politics were stubborn and easily understood. He
thought, with Horsley, that " the people have nothing
to do with the laws but to obey them."
I had lived with the old gentleman all my life.
My parents, in dying, had bequeathed me to him as a
rich legacy. I believe the old villain loved me as his
own child — nearly if not quite as well as he loved
Kate—but it was a dog's existence that he led me,
after all. From my first year until my fifth, he
obliged me with very regular floggings. From five to
fifteen, he threatened me, hourly, with the House of
Correction. From fifteen to twenty, not a day passed
in which he did not promise to cut me off with a
shilling. I was a sad dog, it is true — but then it was


THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK. 231
a part of my nature — a point of my faith. In Kate,
however, I had a firm friend, and I knew it. She
was a good girl, and told me very sweetly that I
might have her (plum and all) whenever I could
badger my grand-uncle Rumgudgeon into the neces-
sary consent. Poor girl! — she was barely fifteen, and
without this consent, her little amount in the funds
was not come-at-able until five immeasurable summers
had "dragged their slow length along." What, then,
to do? At fifteen, or even at twenty-one [for /had
now passed my fifth olympiad] five years in prospect
are very much the same as five hundred. In vain we
besieged the old gentleman with importunities. Here
was .1 piece de resistance (as Messieurs Ude and Careme
would say) which suited his perverse fancy to a T.
It would have stirred the indignation of Job himself, to
see how much like an old mouser he behaved to us
two poor wretched little mice. In his heart he
wished for nothing more ardently than our union.
He had made up his mind to this all along. In fact,
he would have given ten thousand pounds from his
own pocket (Kate's plum was ber own') if he could
have invented anything like an excuse for complying
with our very natural wishes. But then we had been
so imprudent as to broach the subject ourselves. Not
to oppose it under such circumstances, I sincerely
believe was not in his power.
I have said already that he had his weak points; but,
in speaking of these, I must not be understood as refer-
ring to his obstinacy: which was one of his strong
points — "assur iment ce n'it ait pas son faiile."
When I mention his weakness I have allusion to a
bizarre old-womanish superstition which beset him.
He was great in dreams, portents, et id genus omne of


232 TALES.
rigmarole. He was excessively punctilious, too, upcn
small points of honor, and, after his own fashion, was
a man of his word, beyond doubt. This was, in
fact, one of his hobbies. The spirit of his vows he
made no scruple of setting at naught, but the Utter
was a bond inviolable. Now it was this latter peculi-
arity in his disposition, of which Kate's ingenuitv
enabled us, one fine day, not long after our interview
in the dining room, to take a very unexpected advan-
tage; and, having thus, in the fashion of all modern
bards and orators, exhausted, in prolegomena, all the
time at my command, and nearly all the room at my
disposal, I will sum up in a few words what consti-
tutes the whole pith of the story.
It happened then — so the Fates ordered it — that
among the naval acquaintances of my betrothed, were
two gentlemen who had just set foot upon the shores
of England, after a year's absence, each, in foreign
travel. In company with these gentlemen, my cousin
and I, preconcertedlv, paid uncle Rumgudgeon a visit
on the afternoon of Sunday, October the tenth, —just
three weeks after the memorable decision which had so
cruelly defeated our hopes. For about half an hour the
conversation ran upon ordinary topics; but at last, we
contrived, quite naturally, to give it the following turn:
Capt. Pratt. "Well, I have been absent just one
year. —Just one year to-day, as I live — let me see!
yes ! — this is October the tenth. You remember,
Mr. Rumgudgeon, I called, this day year, to bid you
good-bye. And by the way, it does seem something
like a coincidence, does it not — that our friend Cap-
tain Smitherton, here, has been absent exactly a year
also — a year to-day ?''
Smitherton. "Yes! just one year to a fraction.


THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK. 233
You will remember, Mr. Rumgudgeon, that I called
with Capt. Pratoll on this very day, last year, to pay
my parting respects."
Uncle. "Yes, yes, yes — I remember it very
well — very queer, indeed! Both of you gone just
one year. A very strange coincidence, indeed! Just
what Doctor Dubble L. Dee would denominate an ex-
traordinary concurrence of events. Doctor Dub—"
Kate. (Interrupting.) "To be sure, papa, it /'/
something strange; but then Captain Pratt and Cap-
tain Smitherton didn't go altogether the same route,
and that makes a difference, you know."
Uncle. "I don't know any such thing, you huz-
zey! How should I? I think it only makes the
matter more remarkable. Doctor Dubble L. Dee" —
Kate. "Why, papa, Captain Pratt went round
Cape Horn, and Captain Smitherton doubled the
Cape of Good Hope."
Uncle. "Precisely !— the one went east and the
other went west, you jade, and they both have gone
quite round the world. By the bye, Doctor Dubble
L. Dee" —
Myself, (hurriedly.) "Captain Pratt, you must
come and spend the evening with us to-morrow —
you and Smitherton — you can tell us all about your
voyage, and we'll have a game of whist, and " —
Pratt. "Whist, my dear fellow — you forget.
To-morrow will be Sunday. Some other even-
ing —
Kate. "Oh no, fie ! — Robert's not quite so bad
as that. To-day's Sunday."
Uncle. "To be sure — to be sure!"
Pratt. "I beg both your pardons — but I can't
1 Pratt?—Ed.


234 TALES.
be so much mistaken. I know to-morrow's Sunday
because " —
Smitherton, (much surprised.} "What are you all
thinking about? Wasn't yesterday Sunday, I should
like to know?"
All. "Yesterday, indeed ! you are out!"
Uncle. "To-day's Sunday, I say — don't /
know?"
Pratt. "Oh no !— to-morrow's Sunday."
Smitherton. "You are all rnad—every one of
you. I am as positive that yesterday was Sunday as I
am that I sit upon this chair."
Kate, {jumping up eagerlv.} "I see it — I see it
all. Papa, this is a judgment upon you, about —
about you know what. Let me alone, and I'll explain
it all in a minute. It's a very simple thing, indeed.
Captain Smitherton says that yesterday was Sunday:
so it was; he is right. Cousin Bobby, and uncle and
I say that to-day is Sunday: so it is; we are right.
Captain Pratt maintains that to-morrow will be Sun-
day: so it will; he is right too. The fact is, we
are all right, and thus three Sundays have come together
in a week."
Smitherton, (after a pause.) "By the bye,
Pratt, Kate has us completely. What fools we two
are! Mr. Rumgudgeon, the matter stands thus: the
earth, you know, is twenty-four thousand miles in
circumference. Now this globe of the earth turns
upon its own axis — revolves — spins round — these
twenty-four thousand miles of extent, going from west
to east, in precisely twenty-four hours. Do you
understand, Mr. Rumgudgeon?"
Uncle. "To be sure — to be sure — Doctor
Dub" —


THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK. 235
Smitherton, {drowning his voice.) "Well, sir;
that is at the rate of one thousand miles per hour.
Now suppose that I sail from this position a thousand
miles east. Of course, I anticipate the rising of the
sun here at London, by just one hour. I see the sun
rise one hour before you do. Proceeding, in the same
direction, yet another thousand miles, I anticipate the
rising by two hours — another thousand, and I antici-
pate it by three hours, and so on, until I go entirely
round the globe, and back to this spot, when, having
gone twenty-four thousand miles east, I anticipate the
rising of the London sun by no less than twenty-four
hours; that is to say, I am a day in advance of your
time. Understand, eh }"
Uncle. "But Dubble L. Dee " —
Smitherton, {speaking very loud.) "Captain Pratt,
on the contrary, when he had sailed a thousand miles
west of this position, was an hour, and when he had
sailed twenty-four thousand miles west, was twenty-
four hours, or one day, behind the time at London.
Thus, with me, yesterday was Sunday — thus, with
you, to-day is Sunday — and thus, with Pratt, to-
morrow will be Sunday. And what is more, Mr.
Rumgudgeon, it is positively clear that we are all
right; for there can be no philosophical reason as-
signed why the idea of one of us should have prefer-
ence over that of the other.''
Uncle. "My eyes !— well, Kate —well, Bobby!
— this is a judgment upon me, as you say. But I am
a man of my word — mark that I you shall have her,
boy (plum and all,) when you please. Done up, by
Jove! Three Sundays all in a row! I'll go, and
take Dubble L. Dee's opinion upon that."


ELEONORA.
[The Gift, 1842; Broadway Journal, I. 21.]
Sub conaervatione forma? specifics salva anima. — Ravmond
Lully.
I am come of a race noted for vigor of fancy and
ardor of passion. Men have called me mad; but the
question is not yet settled, whether madness is or is not
the loftiest intelligence—-whether much that is glorious
— whether all that is profound — does not spring from
disease of thought — from moods of mind exalted at the
expense of the general intellect. They who dream by
day are cognizant of many things which escape those
who dream only by night. In their grey visions they
obtain glimpses of eternity, and thrill, in awaking, to
find that they have been upon the verge of the great
secret. In snatches, they learn something of the wis-
dom which is of good, and more of the mere knowledge
which is of evil. They penetrate, however rudderless
or compassless, into the vast ocean of the "light in-
effable" and again, like the adventurers of the Nubian
geographer, " agressi sunt mare tenebrarum, quid in eo
esset exploraturi."
We will say, then, that I am mad. I grant, at least,
that there are two distinct conditions of my mental
existence— the condition of a lucid reason, not to be
disputed, and belonging to the memory of events form-
236


ELEONORA. 237
ing the first epoch of my life — and a condition of
shadow and doubt, appertaining to the present, and to
the recollection of what constitutes the second great
era of my being. Therefore, what I shall tell of the
earlier period, believe; and to what I may relate of
the later time, give only such credit as may seem due;
or doubt it altogether; or, if doubt it ye cannot, then
play unto its riddle the Oedipus.
She whom I loved in youth, and of whom I now
pen calmly and distinctly these remembrances, was the
sole daughter of the only sister of my mother long
departed. Eleonora was the name of my cousin. We
had always dwelled together, beneath a tropical sun,
in the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. No un-
guided footstep ever came upon that vale; for it lay
far away up among a range of giant hills that hung
beetling around about it, shutting out the sunlight from
its sweetest recesses. No path was trodden in its
vicinity; and, to reach our happy home, there was
need of putting back, with force, the foliage of many
thousands of forest trees, and of crushing to death the
glories of many millions of fragrant flowers. Thus it
was that we lived all alone, knowing nothing of the
world without the valley, — I, and my cousin, and
her mother.
From the dim regions beyond the mountains at the
upper end of our encircled domain, there crept out a
narrow and deep river, brighter than all save the eyes
of Eleonora; and, winding stealthily about in mazy
courses, it passed away, at length, through a shadowy
gorge, among hills still dimmer than those whence it
had issued. We called it the "River of Silence ;"
for there seemed to be a hushing influence in its flow.
No murmur arose from its bed, and so gently it wan-


238 TALES.
dercd along, that the pearly pebbles upon which we
loved to gaze, far down within its bosom, stirred not at
all, but lay in a motionless content, each in its own old
station, shining on gloriously forever.
The margin of the river, and of the many dazzling
rivulets that glided, through devious ways, into its
channel, as well as the spaces that extended from the
margins away down into the depths of the streams until
they reached the bed of pebbles at the bottom, — these
spots, not less than the whole surface of the valley,
from the river to the mountains that girdled it in, were
carpeted all by a soft green grass, thick, short, perfectly
even, and vanilla-perfumed, but so besprinkled through-
out with the yellow buttercup, the white daisy, the
purple violet, and the ruby-red asphodel, that its exceed-
ing beauty spoke to our hearts, in loud tones, of the love
and of the glory of God.
And, here and there, in groves about this grass, like
wildernesses of dreams, sprang up fantastic trees, whose
tall slender stems stood not upright, but slanted grace-
fully towards the light that peered at noon-day into the
centre of the valley. Their bark was speckled with
the vivid alternate splendor of ebony and silver, and
was smoother than all save the cheeks of Eleonora;
so that but for the brilliant green of the huge leaves that
spread from their summits in long tremulous lines,
dallying with the Zephyrs, one might have fancied
them giant serpents of Syria doing homage to their
Sovereign the Sun.
Hand in hand about this valley, for fifteen years,
roamed I with Eleonora before Love entered within
our hearts. It was one evening at the close of the
third lustrum of her life, and of the fourth of my own,
that we sat, locked in each other's embrace, beneath


ELEONORA. 239
the serpent-like trees, and looked down within the
waters of the River of Silence at our images therein.
We spoke no words during the rest of that sweet day;
and our words even upon the morrow were tremulous
and few. We had drawn the god Eros from that
wave, and now we felt that he had enkindled within
us the fiery souls of our forefathers. The passions
which had for centuries distinguished our race, came
thronging with the fancies for which they had been
equally noted, and together breathed a delirious bliss
over the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass. A
change fell upon all things. Strange brilliant flowers,
star-shaped, burst out upon the trees where no flowers
had been known before. The tints of the green
carpet deepened; and when, one by one, the white
daisies shrank away, there sprang up, in place of them,
ten by ten of the ruby-red asphodel. And life arose
in our paths; for the tall flamingo, hitherto unseen,
with all gay glowing birds, flaunted his scarlet plumage
before us. The golden and silver fish haunted the
river, out of the bosom of which issued, little by little,
a murmur that swelled, at length, into a lulling melody
more divine than that of the harp of /Dolus — sweeter
than all save the voice of Eleonora. And now, too, a
voluminous cloud, which we had long watched in the
regions of Hesper, floated out thence, all gorgeous in
crimson and gold, and settling in peace above us, sank,
day by day, lower and lower, until its edges rested
upon the tops of the mountains, turning all their dim-
ness into magnificence, and shutting us up, as if
forever, within a magic prison-house of grandeur and
of glory.
The loveliness of Eleonora was that of the Seraphim;
but she was a maiden artless and innocent as the brief


240 TALES.
life she had led among the flowers. No guile dis-
guised the fervor of love which animated her heart,
and she examined with me its inmost recesses as we
walked together in the Valley of the Many-Colored
Grass, and discoursed of the mighty changes which
had lately taken place therein.
At length, having spoken one day, in tears, of the
last sad change which must befall Humanity, she
thenceforward dwelt only upon this one sorrowful
theme, interweaving it into all our converse, as, in the
songs of the bard of Schiraz, the same images are
found occurring, again and again, in every impressive
variation of phrase.
She had seen that the finger of Death was upon her
bosom — that, like the ephemeron, she had been made
perfect in loveliness only to die; but the terrors of the
grave, to her, lay solely in a consideration which she
revealed to me, one evening at twilight, by the banks
of the River of Silence.' She grieved to think that,
having entombed her in the Valley of the Many-
Colored Grass, I would quit forever its happy re-
cesses, transferring the love which now was so
passionately her own to some maiden of the outer and
every-day world. And, then and there, I threw my-
self hurriedly at the feet of Eleonora, and offered up
a vow, to herself and to Heaven, that I would never
bind myself in marriage to any daughter of Earth —
that I would in no manner prove recreant to her dear
memory, or to the memory of the devout affection
with which she had blessed me. And I called the
Mighty Ruler of the Universe to witness the pious
solemnity of my vow. And the curse which I in-
voked of Him and of her, a saint in Helusion, should I
prove traitorous to that promise, involved a penalty the


ELEONORA. 241
exceeding great horror of which will not permit me to
make record of it here. And the bright eyes of Eleo-
nora grew brighter at my words; and she sighed as if
a deadly burthen had been taken from her breast; and
she trembled and very bitterly wept; but she made
acceptance of the vow, (for what was she but a
child ?) and it made easy to her the bed of her death.
And she said to me, not many days afterwards, tran-
quilly dying, that, because of what I had done for the
comfort of her spirit, she would watch over me in that
spirit when departed, and, if so it were permitted her,
return to me visibly in the watches of the night ; but,
if this thing were, indeed, beyond the power of the
souls in Paradise, that she would, at least, give me
frequent indications of her presence; sighing upon me
in the evening winds, or filling the air which I
breathed with perfume from the censers of the angels.
And, with these words upon her lips, she yielded up
her innocent life, putting an end to the first epoch of
my own.
Thus far I have faithfully said. But as I pass the
barrier in Time's path formed by the death of my
beloved, and proceed with the second era of my
existence, I feel that a shadow gathers over my brain,
and I mistrust the perfect sanity of the record. But
let me on. — Years dragged themselves along heavily,
and still I dwelled within the Valley of the Many-
Colored Grass ; — but a second change had come
upon all things. The star-shaped flowers shrank into
the stems of the trees, and appeared no more. The
tints of the green carpet faded; and, one by one, the
ruby-red asphodels withered away; and there sprang
up, in place of them, ten by ten, dark eye-like violets
that writhed uneasily and were ever encumbered with
vol. iv.—16


242 TALES.
dew. And Life departed from our paths; for the tall
flamingo flaunted no longer his scarlet plumage before
us, but flew sadly from the vale into the hills, with all
the gay glowing birds that had arrived in his company.
And the golden and silver fish swam down through
the gorge at the lower end of our domain and be-
decked the sweet river never again. And the lulling
melody that had been softer than the wind-harp of
iEolus and more divine than all save the voice of
Eleonora, it died little by little away, in murmurs
growing lower and lower, until the stream returned,
at length, utterly, into the solemnity of its original
silence. And then, lastly the voluminous cloud
uprose, and, abandoning the tops of the mountains to
the dimness of old, fell back into the regions of Hesper,
and took away all its manifold golden and gorgeous
glories from the Valley of the Many-Colored Grass.
Yet the promises of Eleonora were not forgotten;
for I heard the sounds of the swinging of the censers
of the angels; and streams of a holy perfume floated
ever and ever about the valley; and at lone hours,
when my heart beat heavily, the winds that bathed
my brow came unto me laden with soft sighs; and
indistinct murmurs filled often the night air; and once
— oh, but once only! I was awakened from a slumber
like the slumber of death by the pressing of spiritual
lips upon my own.
But the void within my heart refused, even thus, to
be filled. I longed for the love which had before
filled it to overflowing. At length the valley pained
me through its memories of Eleonora, and I left it
forever for the vanities and the turbulent triumphs of the
world.
♦ ♦ # ♦ ♦


ELEONORA. 243
I found myself within a strange city, where all
things might have served to blot from recollection the
sweet dreams I had dreamed so long in the Valley of
the Many-Colored Grass. The pomps and pageant-
ries of a stately court, and the mad clangor of arms,
and the radiant loveliness of woman, bewildered
and intoxicated my brain. But as yet my soul had
proved true to its vows, and the indications of the
presence of Eleonora were still given me in the silent
hours of the night. Suddenly, these manifestations
they ceased; and the world grew dark before mine
eyes; and I stood aghast at the burning thoughts
which possessed — at the terrible temptations which
beset me; for there came from some far, far distant
and unknown land, into the gay court of the king I
served, a maiden to whose beauty my whole recreant
heart yielded at once — at whose footstool I bowed
down without a struggle, in the most ardent, in the
most abject worship of love. What indeed was my
passion for the young girl of the valley in comparison
with the fervor, and the delirium, and the spirit-lifting
ecstasy of adoration with which I poured out my whole
soul in tears at the feet of the ethereal Ermengarde ? —
Oh bright was the seraph Ermengarde! and in thac
knowledge I had room for none other. — Oh divine
was the angel Ermengarde! and as I looked down
into the depths of her memorial eyes 1 thought only of
them — and of her.
I wedded ; — nor dreaded the curse I had invoked;
and its bitterness was not visited upon me. And once
— but once again in the silence of the night, there
came through my lattice the soft sighs which had for-
saken me; and they modelled themselves into familiar
and sweet voice, saying:


244 TALES.
"Sleep in peace ! — for the Spirit of Love reigneth
and ruleth, and, in taking to thy passionate heart her
who is Ermengarde, thou art absolved, for reasons
which shall be made known to thee in Heaven, of thy
vows unto Elconora."


THE OVAL PORTRAIT.
[Graham's Magazine, April, 1842; Broadway
Journal, I. 17.]
The chateau into which my valet had ventured to
make forcible entrance, rather than permit me, in my
desperately wounded condition, to pass a night in the
open air, was one of those piles of commingled gloom
and grandeur which have so long frowned among the
Apennines, not less in fact than in the fancy of Mrs.
Radcliffe. To all appearance it had been temporarily
and very lately abandoned. We established ourselves in
one of the smallest and least sumptuously furnished
apartments. It lay in a remote turret of the building.
Its decorations were rich, yet tattered and antique. Its
walls were hung with tapestry and bedecked with
manifold and multiform armorial trophies, together with
an unusually great number of very spirited modern
paintings in frames of rich golden arabesque. In these
paintings, which depended from the walls not only in
their main surfaces, but in very many nooks which the
bizarre architecture of the chateau rendered necessary —
in these paintings my incipient delirium, perhaps, had
caused me to take deep interest; so that I bade Pedro
to close the heavy shutters of the room — since it was
already night — to light the tongues of a tall candela-
brum which stood by the head of my bed — and to
throw open far and wide the fringed curtains of black
velvet which enveloped the bed itself. I wished all
245


246 TALES.
this done that I might resign myself, if not to sleep, at
least alternately to the contemplation of these pictures,
and the perusal of a small volume which had been found
upon the pillow, and which purported to criticise and
describe them.
Long — long I read — and devoutly, devotedly I
gazed. Rapidly and gloriously the hours flew by, and
the deep midnight came. The position of the cande-
labrum displeased me, and outreaching my hand with dif-
ficulty, rather than disturb my slumbering valet, 1 placed
it so as to throw its rays more fully upon the book.
But the action produced an effect altogether unantici-'
pated. The rays of the numerous candles (for there
were many) now fell within a niche of the room which
had hitherto been thrown into deep shade by one of
the bed-posts. I thus saw in vivid light a picture all
unnoticed before. It was the portrait of a young
girl just ripening into womanhood. I glanced at the
painting hurriedly, and then closed my eyes. Why I
did this was not at first apparent even to my own per-
ception. But while my lids remained thus shut, I ran
over in mind my reason for so shutting them. It was
an impulsive movement to gain time for thought — to
make sure that my vision had not deceived me — to
calm and subdue my fancy for a more sober and more
certain gaze. In a very few moments I again looked
fixedly at the painting.
That I now saw aright I could not and would not
doubt; for the first flashing of the candles upon that
canvas had seemed to dissipate the dreamy stupor which
was stealing over my senses, and to startle me at once
into waking life.
The portrait, I have already said, was that of a young
girl. It was a mere head and shoulders, done in what


The Oval Portrait.
Drawn by J. P. 1.aurens,











THE OVAL PORTRAIT. 247
is technically termed a vignette manner; much in the
style of the favorite heads of Sully. The arms, the
bosom and even the ends of the radiant hair, melted
imperceptibly into the vague yet deep shadow which
formed the back-ground of the whole. The frame was
oval, richly gilded and fi'agreed in Moresque. As a
thing of art nothing could be more admirable than the
painting itself. But it could have been neither the exe-
cution of the work, nor the immortal beauty of the
countenance, which had so suddenly and so vehemently
moved me. Least of all, could it have been that my
fancy, shaken from its half slumber, had mistaken the
head for that of a living person. I saw at once that
the peculiarities of the design, of the vignetting, and of
the frame, must have instantly dispelled such idea —
must have prevented even its momentary entertainment.
Thinking earnestly upon these points, I remained, for
an hour perhaps, half sitting, half reclining, with my
vision riveted upon the portrait. At length, satisfied
with the true secret of its effect, I fell back within the
bed. I had found the spell of the picture in an abso-
lute life-likeliness of expression, which at first startling,
finally confounded, subdued and appalled me. With
deep and reverent awe I replaced the candelabrum in
its former position. The cause of my deep agitation
being thus shut from view, I sought eagerly the volume
which discussed the paintings and their histories. Turn-
ing to the number which designated the oval portrait,
I there read the vague and quaint words which follow:
"She was a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more
lovely than full of glee. And evil was the hour when
she saw, and loved, and wedded the painter. He,
passionate, studious, austere, and having already a bride
in his Art; she a maiden of rarest beauty, and not more


248 TALES.
lovely than full of glee: all light and smiles, and frol-
icksome as the young fawn: loving and cherishing all
things: hating only the Art which was her rival:
dreading only the pallet and brushes and other untoward
instruments which deprived her of the countenance of
her lover. It was thus a terrible thing for this lady to
hear the painter speak of his desire to pourtray even his
young bride. But she was humble and obedient, and
sat meekly for many weeks in the dark high turret-
chamber where the light dripped upon the pale canvas
only from overhead. But he, the painter, took glory
in his work, which went on from hour to hour and
from day to day. And he was a passionate, and wild
and moody man, who became lost in reveries; so that
he mould not see that the light which fell so ghastlily
in that lone turret withered the health and the spirits
of his bride, who pined visibly to all but him. Yet she
smiled on and still on, uncomplainingly, because she
saw that the painter, (who had high renown,) took a
fervid and burning pleasure in his task, and wrought
day and night to depict her who so loved him, yet who
grew daily more dispirited and weak. And in sooth
some who beheld the portrait spoke of its resemblance
in low words, as of a mighty marvel, and a proof not
less of the power of the painter than of his deep love
for her whom he depicted so surpassingly well. But
at length, as the labor drew nearer to its conclusion,
there were admitted none into the turret; for the
painter had grown wild with the ardor of his work, and
turned his eyes from the canvas rarely, even to regard
the countenance of his wife. And he would not see
that the tints which he spread upon the canvas were
drawn from the cheeks of her who sate beside him.
And when many weeks had passed, and but little re-


THE OVAL PORTRAIT. 249
mained to do, save one brush upon the mouth and one
tint upon the eye, the spirit of the lady again flickered
up as the flame within the socket of the lamp. And
then the brush was given, and then the tint was placed;
and, for one moment, the painter stood entranced be-
fore the work which he had wrought; but in the next,
while he yet gazed, he grew tremulous and very pallid,
and aghast, and crying with a loud voice, 'This is
indeed Life itself!' turned suddenly to regard his be-
loved : — She was dead!"


THE MASQUE OF THE RED
DEATH.
[Graham's Magazine, May, 1842 ; Broadway Jour-
nal, II. 2.]
The " Red Death " had long devastated the country.
No pestilence had ever been so fatal, or so hideous.
Blood was its Avatar and its seal — the redness and
the horror of blood. There were sharp pains, and
sudden dizziness, and then profuse bleeding at the
pores, with dissolution. The scarlet stains upon the
body and especially upon the face of the victim, were
the pest ban which shut him out from the aid and from
the sympathy of his fellow-men. And the whole
seizure, progress and termination of the disease, were
the incidents of half an hour.
But the Prince Prospero was happy and dauntless
and sagacious. When his dominions were half de-
populated, he summoned to his presence a thousand
hale and light-hearted friends from among the knights
and dames of his court, and with these retired to the
deep seclusion of one of his castellated abbeys. This
was an extensive and magnificent structure, the crea-
tion of the prince's own eccentric yet august taste.
A strong and lofty wall girdled it in. This wall had
gates of iron. The courtiers, having entered, brought
furnaces and massy hammers and welded the bolts.
250


THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH. 251
They resolved to leave means neither of ingress or
egress to the sudden impulses of despair or of frenzy
from within. The abbey was amply provisioned.
With such precautions the courtiers might bid defiance
to contagion. The external world could take care of
itself. In the meantime it was folly to grieve, or to
think. The prince had provided all the appliances of
pleasure. There were buffoons, there were improvisa-
tor!, there were ballet-dancers, there were musicians,
there was Beauty, there was wine. All these and
security were within. Without was the " Red Death."
It was toward the close of the fifth or sixth month
of his seclusion, and while the pestilence raged most
furiously abroad, that the Prince Prospero entertained
his thousand friends at a masked ball of the most un-
usual magnificence.
It was a voluptuous scene, that masquerade. But
first let me tell of the rooms in which it was held.
There were seven — an imperial suite. In many
palaces, however, such suites form a long and straight
vista, while the folding doors slide back nearly to the
walls on either hand, so that the view of the whole
extent is scarcely impeded. Here the case was very
different; as might have been expected from the
duke's love of the bizarre. The apartments were so
irregularly disposed that the vision embraced but little
more than one at a time. There was a sharp turn at
every twenty or thirty yards, and at each turn a novel
effect. To the right and left, in the middle of each
wall, a tall and narrow Gothic window looked out
upon a closed corridor which pursued the windings of
the suite. These windows were of stained glass
whose color varied in accordance with the prevailing
hue of the decorations of the chamber into which it


252 TALES.
opened. That at the eastern extremity was hung, for
example, in blue — and vividly blue were its win-
dows. The second chamber was purple in its orna-
ments and tapestries, and here the panes were purple.
The third was green throughout, and so were the
casements. The fourth was furnished and lighted
with orange — the fifth with white — the sixth with
violet. The seventh apartment was closely shrouded
in black velvet tapestries that hung all over the ceiling
and down the walls, falling in heavy folds upon a car-
pet of the same material and hue. But in this cham-
ber only, the color of the windows failed to correspond
with the decorations. The panes here were scarlet —
a deep blood color. Now in no one of the seven
apartments was there any lamp or candelabrum, amid
the profusion of golden ornaments that lay scattered to
and fro or depended from the roof. There was no
light of any kind emanating from lamp or candle within
the suite of chambers. But in the corridors that fol-
lowed the suite, there stood, opposite to each window,
a heavy tripod, bearing a brazier of fire that projected
its rays through the tinted glass and so glaringly illu-
mined the room. And thus were produced a multi-
tude of gaudy and fantastic appearances. But in the
western or black chamber the effect of the fire-light
that streamed upon the dark hangings through the
blood-tinted panes, was ghastly in the extreme, and
produced so wild a look upon the countenances of
those who entered, that there were few of the com-
pany bold enough to set foot within its precincts at
all.
It was in this apartment, also, that there stood
against the western wall, a gigantic clock of ebony.
Its pendulum swung to and fro with a dull, heavy,


THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH. 253
monotonous clang; and when the minute-hand made
the circuit of the face, and the hour was to be stricken,
there came from the brazen lungs of the clock a sound
which was clear and loud and deep and exceedingly
musical, but of so peculiar a note and emphasis that,
at each lapse of an hour, the musicians of the orchestra
were constrained to pause, momentarily, in their per-
formance, to hearken to the sound; and thus the
waltzers perforce ceased their evolutions; and there
was a brief disconcert of the whole gay company;
and, while the chimes of the clock yet rang, it was
observed that the giddiest grew pale, and the more
aged and sedate passed their hands over their brows as
if in confused reverie or meditation. But when the
echoes had fully ceased, a light laughter at once per-
vaded the assembly; the musicians looked at each
other and smiled as if at their own nervousness and
folly, and made whispering vows, each to the other,
that the next chiming of the clock should produce in
them no similar emotion; and then, after the lapse of
sixty minutes, (which embrace three thousand and six
hundred seconds of the Time that flies,) there came
yet another chiming of the clock, and then were the
same disconcert and tremulousness and meditation as
before.
But, in spite of these things, it was a gay and mag-
nificent revel. The tastes of the duke were peculiar.
He had a fine eye for colors and effects. He disre-
garded the decora of mere fashion. His plans were
bold and fiery, and his conceptions glowed with bar-
baric lustre. There are some who would have thought
him mad. His followers felt that he was not. It
was necessary to hear and see and touch him to be
sure that he was not.


254 TALES.
He had directed, in great part, the moveable embel-
lishments of the seven chambers, upon occasion of this
great fete; and it was his own guiding taste which
had given character to the masqueraders. Be sure
they were grotesque. There were much glare and
glitter and piquancy and phantasm — much of what
has been since seen in " Hernani." There were ara-
besque figures with unsuited limbs and appointments.
There were delirious fancies such as the madman
fashions. There was much of the beautiful, much
of the wanton, much of the bizarre, something of the
terrible, and not a little of that which might have
excited disgust. To and fro in the seven chambers
there stalked, in fact, a multitude of dreams. And
these — the dreams — writhed in and about, taking
hue from the rooms, and causing the wild music of the
orchestra to seem as the echo of their steps. And,
anon, there strikes the ebony clock which stands in
the hall of the velvet. And then, for a moment, all
is still, and all is silent save the voice of the clock.
The dreams are stiff-frozen as they stand. But the
echoes of the chime die away — they have endured
but an instant — and a light, half-subdued laughter
floats after them as they depart. And now again the
music swells, and the dreams live, and writhe to and
fro more merrily than ever, taking hue from the many-
tinted windows through which stream the rays from
the tripods. But to the chamber which lies most
westwardly of the seven, there are now none of the
maskers who venture; for the night is waning away;
and there flows a ruddier light through the blood-
colored panes; and the blackness of the sable drapery
appals; and to him whose foot falls upon the sable
carpet, there comes from the near clock of ebony a


THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH. 255
muffled peal more solemnly emphatic than any which
reaches their ears who indulge in the more remote
gaieties of the other apartments.
But these other apartments were densely crowded,
and in them beat feverishly the heart of life. And
the revel went whirlingly on, until at length there
commenced the sounding of midnight upon the clock.
And then the music ceased, as I have told; and the
evolutions of the waltzers were quieted; and there
was an uneasy cessation of all things as before. But
now there were twelve strokes to be sounded by the
bell of the clock; and thus it happened, perhaps, that
more of thought crept, with more of time, into the
meditations of the thoughtful among those who rev-
elled. And thus, too, it happened, perhaps, that
before the last echoes of the last chime had utterly
sunk into silence, there were many individuals in the
crowd who had found leisure to become aware of the
presence of a masked figure which had arrested the at-
tention of no single individual before. And the rumor
of this new presence having spread itself whisperingly
around, there arose at length from the whole company
a buzz, or murmur, expressive of disapprobation and
surprise — then, finally, of terror, of horror, and of
disgust.
In an assembly of phantasms such as I have painted,
it may well be supposed that no ordinary appearance
could have excited such sensation. In truth the mas-
querade license of the night was nearly unlimited; but
the figure in question had out-Heroded Herod, and
gone beyond the bounds of even the prince's indefinite
decorum. There are chords in the hearts of the most
reckless which cannot be touched without emotion.
Even with the utterly lost, to whom life and death are


256 TALES.
equally jests, there are matters of which no jest can be
made. The whole company, indeed, seemed now
deeply to feel that in the costume and bearing of the
stranger neither wit nor propriety existed. The figure
was tall and gaunt, and shrouded from head to foot
in the habiliments of the grave. The mask which con-
cealed the visage was made so nearly to resemble the
countenance of a stiffened corpse that the closest scru-
tiny must have had difficulty in detecting the cheat.
And yet all this might have been endured, if not
approved, by the mad revellers around. But the
mummer had gone so far as to assume the type of the
Red Death. His vesture was dabbled in blood — and
his broad brow, with all the features of the face, was
besprinkled with the scarlet horror.
When the eyes of Prince Prospero fell upon this
spectral image (which with a slow and solemn move-
ment, as if more fully to sustain its role, stalked to and
fro among the waltzers) he was seen to be convulsed,
in the first moment with a strong shudder either of
terror or distaste; but, in the next, his brow reddened
with rage.
"Who dares ?" he demanded hoarsely of the cour-
tiers who stood near him— "who dares insult us with
this blasphemous mockery? Seize him and unmask him
— that we may know whom we have to hang at sun-
rise, from the battlements!"
It was in the eastern or blue chamber in which
stood the Prince Prospero as he uttered these words.
They rang throughout the seven rooms loudly and
clearly — for the prince was a bold and robust man,
and the music had become hushed at the waving of
his hand.
It was in the blue room where stood the prince,


THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH. 257
with a group of pale courtiers by his side. At first,
as he spoke, there was a slight rushing movement of
this group in the direction of the intruder, who at the
moment was also near at hand, and now, with delib-
erate and stately step, made closer approach to the
speaker. But from a certain nameless awe with which
the mad assumptions of the mummer had inspired the
whole party, there were found none who put forth
hand to seize him; so that, unimpeded, he passed
within a yard of the prince's person ; and, while the
vast assembly, as if with one impulse, shrank from the
centres of the rooms to the walls, he made his way unin-
terruptedly, but with the same solemn and measured step
which had distinguished him from the first, through the
blue chamber to the purple — through the purple to
the green — through the green to the orange — through
this again to the white — and even thence to the violet,
ere a decided movement had been made to arrest him.
It was then, however, that the Prince Prospero, madden-
ing with rage and the shame of his own momentary cow-
ardice, rushed hurriedly through the six chambers, while
none followed him on account of a deadly terror that
had seized upon all. He bore aloft a drawn dagger, and
had approached, in rapid impetuosity, to within three
or four feet of the retreating figure, when the latter,
having attained the extremity of the velvet apartment,
turned suddenly and confronted his pursuer. There
was a sharp cry — and the dagger dropped gleaming
upon the sable carpet, upon which, instantly afterwards,
fell prostrate in death the Prince Prospero. Then, sum-
moning the wild courage of despair, a throng of the
revellers at once threw themselves into the black apart-
ment, and, seizing the mummer, whose tall figure
stood erect and motionless within the shadow of the
vol. iv. —17


258 TALES.
ebony clock, gasped in unutterable horror at finding
the grave-cerements and corpse-like mask which they
handled with so violent a rudeness, untenanted by any
tangible form.
And now was acknowledged the presence of the Red
Death. He had come like a thief in the night. And
one by one dropped the revellers in the blood-bedewed
halls of their revel, and died each in the despairing
posture of his fall. And the life of the ebony clock
went out with that of the last of the gay. And the
flames of the tripods expired. And Darkness and
Decay and the Red Death held illimitable dominion
over all.


THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN.
[Snowden's Ladv's Companion, October, 1842;
Broadway Journal, U. n.l
The garden like a lady fair was cue
That lay as if she slumbered in delight,
And to the open skies her eyes did shut;
The azure fields of heaven were 'sembled right
In a large round set with the How'rs of light:
The flowers de luce and the round sparks of dew
That hung upon their azure leaves, did show
Like twinkling stars that sparkle in the ev'ning blue.
— Giles Fletchm, [C£W«'i Victory on £«r/o].
No more remarkable man ever lived than my friend,
the young Ellison. He was remarkable in the entire
and continuous profusion of good gifts ever lavished
upon him by fortune. From his cradle to his grave,
a gale of the blandest prosperity bore him along. Nor
do 1 use the word Prosperity in its mere worldly
or external sense. 1 mean it as synonymous with
happiness. The person of whom I speak, seemed
born for the purpose of foreshadowing the wild
doctrines of Turgot, Price, Priestley, and Condorcet —
of exemplifying, by individual instance, what has been
deemed the mere chimera of the perfectionists. In
the brief existence of Ellison, I fancy that I have seen
refuted the dogma —that in man's physical and spirit-
259


260 TALES.
ual nature, lies some hidden principle, the antagonist
of Bliss. An intimate and anxious examination of his
career, has taught me to understand that, in general,
from the violation of a few simple laws of Humanity,
arises the Wretchedness of mankind ; that, as a species,
we have in our possession the as yet unwrought ele-
ments of Content; and that even now, in the present
blindness and darkness of all idea on the great question
of the Social Condition, it is not impossible that Man,
the individual, under certain unusual and highly fortui-
tous conditions, may be happy.
With opinions such as these was my young friend
fully imbued; and thus is it especially worthy of obser-
vation that the uninterrupted enjoyment which distin-
guished his life was in great part the result of preconcert.
It is, indeed, evident, that with less of the instinctive
philosophy which, now and then, stands so well in the
stead of experience, Mr. Ellison would have found him-
self precipitated, by the very extraordinary successes of
his life, into the common vortex of Unhappiness which
yawns for those of pre-eminent endowments. But it is
by no means my present object to pen an essay on Hap-
piness. The ideas of my friend may be summed up in
a few words. He admitted but four unvarying laws,
or rather elementary principles, of Bliss. That which
he considered chief, was (strange to say !) the simple
and purely physical one of free exercise in the open air.
"The health," he said, "attainable by other means
than this is scarcely worth the name." He pointed to
the tillers of the earth — the only people who, as a
class, are proverbially more happy than others — and
then he instanced the high ecstasies of the fox-hunter.
His second principle was the love of woman. His
third was the contempt of ambition. His fourth was


THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN. 26l
an object of unceasing pursuit; and he held that, other
things being equal, the extent of happiness was propor-
tioned to the spirituality of this object.
I have said that Ellison was remarkable in the con-
tinuous profusion of good gifts lavished upon him by
Fortune. In personal grace and beauty he exceeded
all men. His intellect was of that order to which the
attainment of knowledge is less a labor than a necessity
and an intuition. His family was one of the most
illustrious of the empire. His bride was the loveliest
and most devoted of women. His possessions had been
always ample; but, upon the attainment of his one
and twentieth year, it was discovered that one of those
extraordinary freaks of Fate had been played in his be-
half which startle the whole social world amid which
they occur, and seldom fail radically to alter the entire
moral constitution of those who are their objects. It
appears that about one hundred years prior to Mr. El-
lison's attainment of his majority, there had died, in
a remote province, one Mr. Seabright Ellison. This
gentleman had amassed a princely fortune, and, having
no very immediate connexions, conceived the whim
of suffering his wealth to accumulate for a century after
his decease. Minutely and sagaciously directing the
various modes of investment, he bequeathed the aggre-
gate amount to the nearest of blood, bearing the name
Ellison, who should be alive at the end of the hundred
years. Many futile attempts had been made to set aside
this singular bequest; their ex post facto character ren-
dered them abortive; but the attention of a jealous
government was aroused, and a decree finally obtained,
forbidding all similar accumulations. This act did not
prevent young Ellison, upon his twenty-first birth-day,
from entering into possession, as the heir of his ancestor


262 TALES.
Seabright, of a fortune offour hundred and fifty millions
sf dollars.1
When it had become definitely known that such was
the enormous wealth inherited, there were, of course,
many speculations as to the mode of its disposal. The
gigantic magnitude and the immediately available nature
of the sum, dazzled and bewildered all who thought
upon the topic. The possessor of any appreciable
amount of money might have been imagined to perform
any one of a thousand things. With riches merely
surpassing those of any citizen, it would have been easy
to suppose him engaging to supreme excess in the fash-
ionable extravagances of his time; or busying himself
with political intrigues; or aiming at ministerial power;
or purchasing increase of nobility; or devising gorgeous
architectural piles; or collecting large specimens of
Virtu ; or playing the munificent patron of Letters and
Art; or endowing and bestowing his name upon exten-
sive institutions of charity. But, for the inconceivable
wealth in the actual possession of the young heir, these
objects and all ordinary objects were felt to be inade-
quate. Recourse was had to figures; and figures but
sufficed to confound. It was seen, that even at three
percent., the annual income of the inheritance amounted
to no less than thirteen millions and five hundred thou-
sand dollars; which was one million and one hundred
1 An incident similar in outline to the one here imagined, oc-
curred, not very long ago, in England. The name of the fortunate
heir (who still lives,) is Thelluson. I first saw an account of this
matter in the "Tour" of Prince Piickler-Muslcau. He makes
the sum received ninety millions of pounds, and observes, with much
force, that " in the contemplation of so vast a sum, and of the ser-
vices to which it might be applied, there is something even of the
sublime." To suit the views of this article, I have followed the
Prince's statement — a grossly exaggerated one, no doubt.


THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN. 263
and twenty-five thousand per month; or thirty-six
thousand, nine hundred and eighty-six per day; or one
thousand five hundred and forty-one per hour; or six
and twenty dollars for every minute that flew. Thus
the usual track of supposition was thoroughly broken
up. Men knew not what to imagine. There were
some who even conceived that Mr. Ellison would divest
himself forthwith of at least two-thirds of his fortune as
of utterly superfluous opulence; enriching whole troops
of his relatives by division of his superabundance.
I was not surprised, however, to perceive that he
had long made up his mind upon a topic which had
occasioned so much of discussion to his friends. Nor
was I greatly astonished at the nature of his decision.
In the widest and noblest sense, he was a poet. He
comprehended, moreover, the true character, the august
aims, the supreme majesty and dignity of the poetic sen-
timent. The proper gratification of the sentiment he
instinctively felt to lie in the creation of novel forms of
Beauty. Some peculiarities, either in his early educa-
tion, or in the nature of his intellect, had tinged with
what is termed materialism the whole cast of his ethical
speculations; and it was this bias, perhaps, which im-
perceptibly led him to perceive that the most advanta-
geous, if not the sole legitimate field for the exercise of
the poetic sentiment, was to be found in the creation
of novel moods of purely physical loveliness. Thus it
happened that he became neither musician nor poet;
if we use this latter term in its every-day acceptation.
Or it might have been that he became neither the one
nor the other, in pursuance of an idea of his which I
have already mentioned — the idea, that in the con-
tempt of ambition lay one of the essential principles of
happiness on earth. Is it not, indeed, possible that


264 TALES.
while a bigb order of genius is necessarily ambitious,
the highest is invariably above that which is termed
ambition? And may it not thus happen that many far
greater than Milton, have contentedly remained "mute
and inglorious"? I believe that the world has never
yet seen, and that, unless through some series of acci-
dents goading the noblest order of mind into distasteful
exertion, the world will never behold, that full extent
of triumphant execution, in the richer production of
Art, of which the human nature is absolutely capable.
Mr. Ellison became neither musician nor poet;
although no man lived more profoundly enamored both
of Music and the Muse. Under other circumstances
than those which invested him, it is not impossible
that he would have become a painter. The field of
sculpture, although in its nature rigidly poetical, was
too limited in its extent and in its consequences, to
have occupied, at any time, much of his attention.
And I have now mentioned all the provinces in which
even the most liberal understanding of the poetic senti-
ment has declared this sentiment capable of expatiating.
I mean the most liberal public or recognized conception
of the idea involved in the phrase "poetic sentiment."
But Mr. Ellison imagined that the richest, and alto-
gether the most natural and most suitable province, had
been blindly neglected. No definition had spoken of
the Landscape- Gardener, as of the poet; yet my friend
could not fail to perceive that the creation of the Land-
scape-Garden offered to the true muse the most mag-
nificent of opportunities. Here was, indeed, the fairest
field for the display of invention, or imagination, in the
endless combining of forms of novel Beauty; the ele-
ments which should enter into combination being, at all
times, and by a vast superiority, the most glorious which


THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN. 265
the earth could afford. In the multiform of the tree,
and in the multicolor of the flower, he recognized the
most direct and the most energetic efforts of Nature at
physical loveliness. And in the direction or concentra-
tion of this effort, or, still more properly, in its adap-
tation to the eyes which were to behold it upon earth,
he perceived that he should be employing the best
means — laboring to the greatest advantage — in the
fulfilment of his destiny as Poet.
"Its adaptation to the eyes which were to behold it
upon earth." In his explanation of this phraseology,
Mr. Ellison did much towards solving what has always
seemed to me an enigma. I mean the fact (which none
but the ignorant dispute,) that no such combinations of
scenery exist in Nature as the painter of genius has in
his power to produce. No such Paradises are to be
found in reality as have glowed upon the canvas of
Claude. In the most enchanting of natural landscapes,
there will always be found a defect or an excess —
many excesses and defects. While the component
parts may exceed, individually, the highest skill of the
artist, the arrangement of the parts will always be sus-
ceptible of improvement. In short, no position can be
attained, from which an artistical eye, looking steadily,
will not find matter of offence, in what is technically
termed the composition of a natural landscape. And yet
how unintelligible is this. In all other matters we are
justly instructed to regard Nature as supreme. With
her details we shrink from competition. Who shall pre-
sume to imitate the colors of the tulip, or to improve
the proportions of the lily of the valley? The criticism
which says, of sculpture or of portraiture, that " Nature
is to be exalted rather than imitated," is in error. No
pictorial or sculptural combinations of points of human


266 TALES.
loveliness, do more than approach the living and breath-
ing human beauty as it gladdens our daily path. Byron,
who often erred, erred not in saying,
I've seen more living beauty, ripe and real,
Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.
In landscape alone is the principle of the critic true;
and, having felt its truth here, it is but the headlong
spirit of generalization which has induced him to pro-
nounce it true throughout all the domains of Art.
Having, I fay, felt its truth here. For the feeling is
no affectation or chimera. The mathematics afford
no more absolute demonstrations, than the sentiment
of his Art yields to the artist. He not only believes,
but positively knows, that such and such apparently
arbitrary arrangements of matter, or form, constitute,
and alone constitute, the true Beauty. Yet his reasons
have not yet been matured into expression. It remains
for a more profound analysis than the world has yet
seen, folly to investigate and express them. Never-
theless is he confirmed in his instinctive opinions, by
the concurrence of all his compeers. Let a compo-
sition be defective; let an emendation be wrought in
its mere arrangement of form ; let this emendation be
submitted to every artist in the world; by each will
its necessity be admitted. And even far more than
this; in remedy of the defective composition, each
insulated member of the fraternity will suggest the
identical emendation.
I repeat that in landscape arrangements, or colloca-
tions alone, is the physical Nature susceptible of " exal-
tation," and that, therefore, her susceptibility of
improvement at this one point was a mystery which,


THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN. 267
hitherto, I had been unable to solve. It was Mr.
Ellison who first suggested the idea that what we
regarded as improvement or exaltation of the natural
beauty, was really such, as respected only the mortal
or human point of view,- that each alteration or disturb-
ance of the primitive scenery might possibly effect a
blemish in the picture, if we could suppose this picture
viewed at large from some remote point in the heavens.
"It is easily understood," says Mr. Ellison, "that
what might improve a closely scrutinized detail, might,
at the same time, injure a general and more distantly-
observed effect." He spoke upon this topic with
warmth: regarding not so much its immediate or
obvious importance, (which is little,) as the character
of the conclusions to which it might lead, or of the
collateral propositions which it might serve to corrobo-
rate or sustain. There might be a class of beings,
human once, but now to humanity invisible, for whose
scrutiny and for whose refined appreciation of the
beautiful, more especially than for our own, had been
set in order by God the great landscape-garden of the
whole earth.
In the course of our discussion, my young friend
took occasion to quote some passages from a writer
who has been supposed to have well treated this theme.
"There are, properly," he writes, "but two styles
of landscape-gardening, the natural and the artificial.
One seeks to recall the original beauty of the country,
by adapting its means to the surrounding scenery;
cultivating trees in harmony with the hills or plain of
the neighboring land; detecting and bringing into
practice those nice relations of size, proportion and
color which, hid from the common observer, are
revealed everywhere to the experienced student of


268 TALES.
nature. The result of the natural style of gardening,
is seen rather in the absence of all defects and incon-
gruities — in the prevalence of a beautiful harmony and
order, than in the creation of any special wonders or
miracles. The artificial style has as many varieties as
there are different tastes to gratify. It has a certain
general relation to the various styles of building. There
are the stately avenues and retirements of Versailles;
Italian terraces ; and a various mixed old English style,
which bears some relation to the domestic Gothic or
English Elizabethan architecture. Whatever may be
said against the abuses of the artificial landscape-garden-
ing, a mixture of pure art in a garden scene, adds to
it a great beauty. This is partly pleasing to the eye,
by the show of order and design, and partly moral.
A terrace, with an old moss-covered balustrade, calls
up at once to the eye, the fair forms that have passed
there in other days. The slightest exhibition of art
is an evidence of care and human interest."
"From what I have already observed," said Mr.
Ellison, "you will understand that I reject the idea,
here expressed, of ' recalling the original beauty of the
country.' The original beauty is never so great as
that which may be introduced. Of course, much
depends upon the selection of a spot with capabilities.
What is said in respect to the 'detecting and bringing
into practice those nice relations of size, proportion
and color,' is a mere vagueness of speech, which may
mean much, or little, or nothing, and which guides in
no degree. That the true ' result of the natural style
of gardening is seen rather in the absence of all defects
and incongruities, than in the creation of any special
wonders or miracles,' is a proposition better suited to
the grovelling apprehension of the herd, than to the


THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN. 269
fervid dreams of the man of genius. The merit sug-
gested is, at best, negative, and appertains to that
hobbling criticism which, in letters, would elevate
Addison into apotheosis. ^ In truth, while that merit
which consists in the mere avoiding demerit, appeals
directly to the understanding, and can thus be fore-
shadowed in Rule, the loftier merit, which breathes
and flames in invention or creation, can be apprehended
solely in its results. Rule applies but to the excel-
lences of avoidance — to the virtues which deny or
refrain. Beyond these the critical art can but suggest.
We may be instructed to build an Odyssey, but it is
in vain that we are told bow to conceive a 'Tempest,'
an 'Inferno,' a ' Prometheus Bound,' a ' Nightingale,'
such as that of Keats, or the 'Sensitive Plant' of
Shelley. But, the thing done, the wonder accom-
plished, and the capacity for apprehension becomes
universal. The sophists of the negative school, who,
through inability to create, have scoffed at creation, are
now found the loudest in applause. What, in its
chrysalis condition of principle, affronted their demure
reason, never fails, in its maturity of accomplishment,
to extort admiration from their instinct of the beautiful
or of the sublime.
'' Our author's observations on the artificial style of
gardening," continued Mr. Ellison, "are less objec-
tionable. 'A mixture of pure art in a garden scene,
adds to it a great beauty.' This is just ; and the refer-
ence to the sense of human interest is equally so. I
repeat that the principle here expressed, is incontro-
vertible; but there may be something even beyond it.
There may be an object in full keeping with the prin-
ciple suggested — an object unattainable by the means
ordinarily in possession of mankind, yet which, if


27O TALES.
attained, would lend a charm to the landscape-garden
immeasurably surpassing that which a merely human
interest could bestow. The true poet possessed of
very unusual pecuniary resources, might possibly,
while retaining the necessary idea of art or interest or
culture, so imbue his designs at once with extent and
novelty of Beauty, as to convey the sentiment of spir-
itual interference. It will be seen that, in bringing
about such result, he secures all the advantages of
interest or design, while relieving his work of all the
harshness and technicality of Art. In the most rugged
of wildernesses — in the most savage of the scenes of
pure Nature — there is apparent the art of a Creator;
yet is this art apparent only to reflection; in no re-
spect has it the obvious force of a feeling. Now, if
we imagine this sense of the Almighty Design to be
harmonized in a measurable degree; if we suppose a
landscape whose combined strangeness, vastness, de-
finitiveness, and magnificence, shall inspire the idea
of culture, or care, or superintendence, on the part
of intelligences superior yet akin to humanity — then
the sentiment of interest is preserved, while the Art is
made to assume the air of an intermediate or secondary
Nature — a Nature which is not God, nor an emana-
tion of God, but which still is Nature, in the sense that
it is the handiwork of the angels that hover between
man and God."
It was in devoting his gigantic wealth to the practi-
cal embodiment of a vision such as this — in the free
exercise in the open air, which resulted from personal
direction of his plans — in the continuous and unceas-
ing object which these plans afford — in the high
spirituality of the object itself—in the contempt of
ambition which it enabled him more to feel than to


THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN. 271
affect — and, lastly, it was in the companionship and
sympathy of a devoted wife, that Ellison thought to
find, and found, an exemption from the ordinary cares
of Humanity, with a far greater amount of positive
happiness than ever glowed in the rapt day-dreams of
De Stael.1
1Cf. "The Domain of Arnheim" and "The Iiland of the
Fay." —Ed.





NOTES
Vol. IV—iS (a73)


ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES.
o. — Omit.
o. c. — Omit comma or commas.
o. h. — Omit hyphen.
o. d. — Omit dash.
o. q. m. — Omit quotation marks.
0. a. — Omit accent,
s. I. — Small letter,
cap. — Capital.
i. — Italics.
n. i. — Not italics.
p. —Page.
1. — Line.
The dates 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the respective col-
lected editions.
The first group of each body of notes gives the variations
of the earliest collated form of the tale from the text of the
edition, the reading of the text standing first, with the cor-
responding reading of the collated form in parentheses. In
order to economize space, the second, third, or fourth state
was in most cases collated with the earliest forms, the read-
ing of the later form being placed first in the notes, with
the earliest form in parentheses.
(274)


NOTES.
THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND
CHARMION.
Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, December, 1839;
1840; 1845.
The text follows 1845.
Griswold does not differ from 1845.
1840 shows several unimportant variations from the Gentleman's
Magazine. 1845 was slightly revised from the 1840 state.
Burton's Gentleman s Magazine, December, l8jQ-
No motto.
Page 1 1. 6 more; — (—) page 2 1. 7 this;— (—)
page 3 1. 5 all, (o. c.) page 4 1. 16 , upon (o. c.) I. 21
, that (o. c.) 1. 23 of (and these of) 1. 33 rapid; (—)
page 5 I. 17 wise; (—) 1. 20 nucleus (n. i.) 1. 21-22
the harmless . . . of . . . visitor (its harmless) 1.23
which (one which) 1. 26 of (, of) page 6 1. 8 , of (;)
1. 18 , at length, (o. c.) 1. 20 now (, now) 1. 30 heav-
ens, (—) 1. 30 hearts (heart) 1. 30 , but (o. c.) 1. 31
brains (brain) 1. 33 flame, (o. c.) page 7 1. 1 comet; (—)
1. 4for (o.) 1. 6 altered; (—) 1. 8 , utterlv (—) 1. 9 be-
fore, (—) 1. 12 men; (—-) 1. 17 affected; (—) page 8
1. 4 immediate; — (—) 1. 5 their (its) 1. 17 rigidlv (im-
moveably) 1. 18 heavens (cap.) 1. 20 ;— even (. Even)
1. 22 moment (short moment) 1. 25-26 shouting and
(great) 1. 28 , burst (o. c).
1840. Variations from above.
Page 3 1. 5 now (, now) page 5 1. 3 color (colour)
1. 23 vcbich (one which) page 6 1. 9 , and (o. c.) 1. 12
(*75)


276 NOTES.
on, (o. c.) 1. 30 hearts (heart) 1. 33 flame, (o. c.)
page 7 1. 13 pain (pain —) page 8 1. 24 dvwn (down,).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Accents in motto supplied by Ed.
Note bv Prof. W. LeConte Stevens, Washington and Lee
Uni-v.
Eiros undertakes to explain t6 Charmion how the
world, or at least that part of it in which Charmion had
been living, was destroyed by the collision of a comet.
The author writes intelligently about comets in the first
part of the discussion, so long as he confines himself to
outlining what astronomers had already learned about
comets, their slight density, the improbability of collision,
and of shock due to collision. As soon as he abandons
the historical he plunges into not only the improbable but
the impossible. The last two pages teem with errors.
He says the comet on close approach took '' the char-
acter of a gigantic mantle of rare flame, extending from
horizon to horizon." While we do not know with cer-
tainty the source of brightness of comets, it is quite well
agreed that they are not masses of flame, that there is no
combustion in the sense of chemical combination pro-
ducing heat and light. The light is most probably due
to reflection from gaseous or vaporous particles, just as
an afternoon cloud looks white by reflecting the sunlight.
He says "A wild luxuriance of foliage, utterly un-
known before, burst out upon every vegetable thing."
Such a change has no conceivable relation to the approach
of a comet. If it be called a " predicted circumstance"
the prediction was never made by any reputable astrono-
mer, or by any scientific man who limits his conclusions
in proportion to the quantity and quality of the evidence
attainable.
All that the author says about '' constriction of the


TALES. 277
breast and lungs," "insufferable dryness of the skin,"
etc., is imagination alone.
He says the air is a " compound of oxygen and nitro-
gen gases." It is not so; it is a mechanical mixture of
them. He says oxygen is the "vehicle of heat.'' It
does not convey heat any more than any other gas, such
as nitrogen. The heat is merely the physical manifesta-
tion of the transformation of chemical energy. Oxygen
is usually one of the elements present when such trans-
formation produces heat, but not necessarily always so.
He assumes that by collision with the comet either oxygen
is given in great excess to our atmosphere or nitrogen is
withdrawn from our atmosphere, and that conflagration
is the result. Comets have been studied by the aid of
the spectroscope, an instrument first devised in 1814 but
not generally used until after 1859, and hence after the
date of this essay by Poe. The result has been to show
that the comets examined were devoid of oxygen, or if
this were present it was in exceedingly small quantity.
If it be assumed that the comet would withdraw nitrogen
from our atmosphere and thus leave in it an excess of
oxygen, the assumption can not be based on anything
known about comets or about our atmosphere.
The recital of Kiros is thus a clever bit of imagination
without the slightest basis in science, but rather in oppo-
sition to scientific probability.
"THE JOURNAL OF JULIUS RODMAN."
Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, January-June,
1840.
The text follows Burton's.
This tale appeared anonymously in Burton's, but the internal evi-
dence is fully sufficient to set at rest all question as to the author-
ship.


278 NOTES.
The piece is not found in the Griswold collection.
Apart from this, Poe in a remarkable letter to Burton, June 1,
1840 (Ingram, I. 175) acknowledges the authorship. To Mr.
Ingram is due this interesting discovery. — Ed.
MYSTIFICATION (VON JUNG).
1840; Broadway Journal, II. 25.
The text follows the Broadway Journal.
The variations of Griswold from the Broadway Journal are few,
and confined to spelling and punctuation.
This tale was first published in the 1840 collection under the title
"Von Jung." On its republication it appeared under a new title,
shortened, and revised in phraseology and punctuation, though the
incidents remain unchanged.
The most important variation to be noted is the absence, in the
later state, of the description of the personal appearance of Hermann.
Variations of 1840 from the text.
No motto 1840. page 102 1. 1 The . . . Jun%
(My friend, the Baron Ritzner Von Jung,) 1. 4 the, —
(—) 1. 8 witb Ritxner (with him —with Ritzner—) 1. 10
me (me par hazard) page 103 1. 3 , that (o.) 1. 4 imper-
tinent (not pertinent) 1. 8 , and (moral feelings, and
physical) 1. 10 despotic (absolutely despotic) After par.
I. insert :— I have seen — and be it here borne in mind
that gentlemen still living in Gotham who have been with
myself witness of these things will have full recollection
of the passages to which I now merely allude — I have
seen, then, the most outrageously preposterous of events
brought about by the most intangible and apparently in-
adequate of means. I have seen — what, indeed, have I
not seen? I have seen Villanova, the danseuse, lecturing
in the chair of National Law, and have seen D ,
P , T , and Von C , all enraptured with her


TALES. 279
profundity. I have seen the protector, the consul, and
the whole faculty aghast at the convolutions of a weather-
cock. I have seen Sontag received with hisses, and a
hurdy-gurdy with sighs. I have seen an ox-cart, with
oxen, on the summit of the Rotunda. I have seen all the
pigs of G n in periwigs, and all her cows in canoni-
cals. I have seen fifteen hundred vociferous cats in the
steeple of St. P . I have seen the college chapel bom-
barded — I have seen the college ramparts most distress-
ingly placarded — I have seen the whole world by the ears
— I have seen old Wertemuller in tears — and, more than
all, I have seen such events come to be regarded as the
most reasonable, commendable, and inevitable things in
creation, through the silent, yet all-pervading and magi-
cal influence of the dominator Baron Ritzner Von Jung.
1. 17 his (the Baron's) 1. 18 age ;—(—) 1. 22 He (In
stature he was about five feet eight inches. He) 1. 23
the (rather the) 1. 32 and (, and) 1. 34 vias (was neither
more nor less than) page 104 1. 12 practical: — (—)
I. 13 accused, — (—) 1. 14 Heraclites, — (—) 1. »o
\mystique] (mystifique) 1. 20 , lay (o. c.) 1. 23 a (the)
1. 24 ,) bf 0, ) page 105 1. 3 rise. (rise. How this
difficult point was accomplished I have become fully
aware by means of a long course of observation on the
oddities of my friend, and by means of frequent disserta-
tions on the subject from himself; but upon this matter I
cannot dilate.) 1. 3 instance (instance, however,) 1. 6 —
an (,) After Par. II. page 103 insert: — My readers
have thus the physical baron before them. What I shall
add respecting those mental peculiarities to which I have
as yet only partially adverted, will be told in my own
words — for I find that, in speaking of my friend, I have
been falling unwittingly into one of the many odd lit-
erary mannerisms of the dominator Baron Ritzner Von
Jung.
After par. I. page 105 insert: —
To enter fully into the labyrinths of the Baron's finesse,
or even to follow him in that droll career of practical


280 NOTES.
mystification which gave him so wonderful an ascendency
over the mad spirits of G n, would lead me to a far
greater length than I have prescribed to myself in this
article. I may dwell upon these topics hereafter, and
then not in petto. I am well aware that in tracing
minutely and deliberately to their almost magical results
the operations of an intellect like that of Ritzner, wherein
an hereditary and cultivated taste for the bizarre was allied
with an intuitive acumen in regard to the every-day im-
pulses of the heart — an untrodden field would be found
to lie open before me, rich in novelty and vigor, of emo-
tion and incident, and abounding in rich food for both
speculation and analysis. But this, I have already said,
could not be accomplished in little space. Moreover, the
Baron is still living in Belgium, and it is not without the
limits of the possible that his eye may rest upon what I
am now writing. I shall be careful, therefore, not to dis-
close, at least thus and here, the mental machinery
which he has a pleasure, however whimsical, in keeping
concealed. An anecdote at random, however, may con-
vey some idea of the spirit of his practice. The method
varied ad infinitum ; and in this well-sustained variety lay
chiefly the secret of that unsuspectedness with which his
multifarious operations were conducted.
Page 105 1. 1 j bis . . . G n (the domina-
tion) 1. 16 at least was done (was done, at least,) 1. 20
of the Baron (of your humble servant, and the Baron
Ritzner Von Jung — for it must be understood we were
chums.) 1. Z7 connection (connexion) 1. 31 desperate,
(o. c.) page 106 I. 6 arms (arms,) 1. 7 and an (and, if
I may so speak,) 1. 15 may (, may) 1. 21 respect (respect.)
1. 21 , perhaps, (o. c.) 1. 22 was . . . fool (was
one of the greatest asses in Christendom.).
After "talent" page 106 I. 25 insert: —
His personal appearance was so peculiar that I feci con-
fident my outline of him will be recognised at once by all
who have been in company with the model. He was one
of the tallest men I have ever seen, being fully six feet


TALES. 281
and a half. His proportions were singularly mal-apropos.
His legs were brief, bowed, and very slender; while
above them arose a trunk worthy of the Farnesian Hercules.
His shoulders, nevertheless, were round, his neck long
although thick, and a general stoop forward gave him a
slouching air. His head was of colossal dimensions, and
overshadowed by a dense mass of straight raven hair, two
huge locks of which, stiffly plastered with pomatum, ex-
tended with a lachrymose air down the temples, and par-
tially over the cheek bones — a fashion which of late days
has wormed itself (the wonder is that it has not arrived
here before) into the good graces of the denizens of the
United States. But the face itself was the chief oddity.
The upper region was finely proportioned, and gave in-
dication of the loftiest species of intellect. The forehead
was massive and broad, the organs of ideality over the
temples, as well as those of causality, comparison, and
eventuality, which betray themselves above the 01 frontii,
being so astonishingly developed as to attract the instant
notice of every person who saw him. The eyes were
full, brilliant, beaming with what might be mistaken for
intelligence, and well relieved by the short, straight,
picturesque-looking eyebrow, which is perhaps one of the
surest indications of general ability. The aquiline nose,
too, was superb ; certainly nothing more magnificent was
ever beheld, nothing more delicate nor more exquisitely
modelled. All these things were well enough, as I have
said; it was the inferior portions of the visage which
abounded in deformity, and which gave the lie instanter to
the tittle-tattle of the superior. The upper lip (a huge
lip in length) had the appearance of being swollen as by
the sting of a bee, and was rendered still more atrocious
by a little spot of very black mustachio immediately be-
neath the nose. The under lip, apparently disgusted with
the gross obesity of its fellow, seemed bent upon resem-
bling it as little as might be, and getting as far removed
from it as possible. It was accordingly very curt and
thin, hanging back as if utterly ashamed of being seen;


282 NOTES.
while the chin, retreating still an inch or two farther, might
have been taken for — anything in the universe but a chin.
In this abrupt transition, or rather descent, in regard to
character, from the upper to the lower regions of the face,
an analogy was preserved between the face itself and the
body at large, whose peculiar construction I have spoken
of before. The result of the entire conformation was,
that opinions directly conflicting were daily entertained in
respect to the personal appearance of Hermann. Erect,
he was absolutely hideous, and seemed to be, what in fact
he really was, a fool. At table, with his hands covering
the lower part of his visage, (an attitude of deep medita-
tion which he much affected) truly I never witnessed a
more impressive tableau than his general appearance pre-
sented.
Page 106 1. 11 fanfaronade (fanfaronnade) 1. 28 j (—--)
1. 3o duello (n. i.) 1. 34 had (bodily and mental, had)
page 107 1. 2 ,' (,) 1. % , in . . instance, (o. c.)
1. 4 friend (chum) 1. 7 tbe latter (Hermann) 1. 8 ,' (,) 1. i2
) (),) 1. 1 3 , with (o. c.) 1. 15 farrago (n. i.) 1. 18 , /»
(o. c.) 1. 18 points, (o. c.) 1. 23 ( (,() 1. 27 pale (very
pale) 1. 30 , while (o. c.) page 108 1. 1 ;(,) 1. 1 after-
ward (afterwards) 1. 3 saw (witnessed) 1. 7 silent, (o.c.)
I. 19 this (the present) 1. 26 done, (o. c.) 1. 31 . (,) 1. 31
not new par. 1. 32-33 ,full ofwine, (o. c.) 1. 33 against
(furiously against) 1. 34 ; (,) page 109 1. 4 their (their
hats for) I. 6 ; (,) 1. 9 bis (his usual) 1. 9 //j^'(stiff,) 1. 9-
10 ultra recherchi (n. i.) 1. n,with . . . gravity,
(o. c.) 1. 22 , and (; then) 1. 22 , bv (p. c.) 1. 23
[£>'Audiguier] (Andiguicr) 1. 24 \-Brantdme'] (o. a.) 1. 30
, a (o. c.) 1. 31 non; (,) page no 1. 4 , he (o. c.)
1. io-»i Sir, . . . /£ —("Sir,— . . . 18-.")
1. 15 , ivitb (o. c.) 1. 20 Jung, (.) 1. 23 it ; (,)
I.25 Having I (He then said he was aware
of the contents of the note, and that lie did not wish to
peruse it. With this, to my great astonishment, he
repeated the letter nearly verbatim, handing me, at the
same time, an already written reply. This, which ran


TALES. 283
as follows, I) I. 26 . (:) 1. 27 Sir (" Sir) page 111
1. 3 and (and, as it were,) 1. 7 and (o.) 1. 11 Hidelin
(o. a.) 1. ia of1- " ('on) 1. 13 scripta (cap.) 1. 14 ; (,)
1. 15 , will (of will) \. 17 me (my) 1. 30 smiles (airs)
I.31 , (o. c.) page 112 1. 7 not new par. 1. 9 and (and,)
1. i2 ,' (,) 1. 19 , (o. c.) 1. 19 ,- (,) 1. 20 prima (prima)
1. »3 profundity (profound analysis) 1. 27 a (o.) 1. 3a
, from (o. c.) 1. 32 , that (o. c.) page 113 1. 3 any-
thing (any) 1. 4 duello (n. i.).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 102 [Motto] 0' (of) 1. 1 Von (s. 1.) 1. 4 descrip-
tion, — (—) page 103 1. 18 age; — (,) page 104 1. 17
, and (o. c.) 1. 20 art (n. i.) 1. 20 [mystyque] (mystifique)
1. 29 which, (, which) page 106 1. 6 , with (o. c.) 1. 11
[fanfaronnade] (fanfaronade) 1. 12 duelling (dueling)
1. 25 duellist (duelist) 1. 28 red, (;) page 108 1. 10 , as
(o. c.) [1. 21 gentlemen (gentleman B. J.)] page 1OO,
1. 9 duellist (duelist) 1. 10 and (and,) 1. 23 [D' Audiguier\
(Audiguier) 1. 24 [Brantdme] (o. a.)l. 30 Hidelin (o. a.)
1. 30 scripta (cap.) page 110 1. 25 , he (o. c.) page 111
1. 11 \Hedelin\ (o. a.) 1. 22 Jung (Juns) page 112 1. 3
behaviour (behavior).
WHY THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN WEARS
HIS HAND IN A SLING.
1840; Broadway Journal, II. 9.
The text follows the Bread-way Journal. The Griswold
variations are mostly in spelling.
A number of variations in the spelling of the Broadway Journal
from the 1840 are observed, but very few verbal changes.
Variations of 1840 from the text.
Page 114 1. 3 intheristhin (intheristhing) 1. 4 Baronitt
(Baronit) I. 5 Russell (Russel) 1. 6 wantin (wanting)


284 NOTES.
1. 8 mail/ (meself) 1. 8 fait (faith) 1. 9 curlin (curling)
1. 9-10 (. . .) (o. p.) 1. 14 wouldn't (would'nt) 1. 18
Park (. —(.) 1. 19 a-ve (have) 1. 20 rason (reason) 1. 22
silf (ststt) \. 22 , in (o. c.) page 115 1. 2 ralellv (really)
1. 8 acquintance (acquaintance) 1. 11 rason (reason) 1. 12
truth (thruth) 1. 22 them (thim) 1. 24 glass, (—) 1. 27
silf (self) 1. 29 silf (self) 1. 30 ha (have) 1. 33 lay, (—)
page 1l6 1. 5 sure (sure enough) 1. 7 writin (writing) 1. 10
printin (printing) 1. 15 bimsilf (himself) I. 18 of (, of)
page 117 1. 1 silf (self—) 1. a , Pathrick, (o. c.) 1. 4 , or
(, dear, or) 1. 8 place; (—) 1. 11 , the (—) 1. 12 natur,
(—) 1. 12 sitting (sittin) 1. 13 , there (o. c.) 1. 15 /, (—)
1. 16 , and (—) 1. 16 thin (then) 1. 20 sure (sure enough)
1. 20 ,and(—)1. 21 did, (—) 1. 29 silf (self) 1. 31
However, (—) page 118 1. 8 , says (o. c.) 1. 8 he,
(—) 1. 8 , says (o. c.) 1. 8 he, (—) 1. 9 , says he (o.)
1. 11 /; (—) 1. 12 throtb (troth) 1. 12 silf (sett) 1. 15
dear (swate) 1. 16 gived (giv'd) 1. 16 such (sich) 1. 21
then (thin) 1. 25 say, (—) 1. 30/ay, (—) 1. 31 , and (—)
page 11g I. 2 say, (—) 1. 3 Baronitt (Baronit) I. 4 silf
(self) 1. 8 dilikittest (delikittest) 1. 10 fait (faith) 1. 14 . and
(—) 1. 16 would (wud) 1. 17 thim (them) 1. 24 silf (self)
1. 29 afthrr (after) 1. 30 , and (—) 1. 32 say, (—) 1. 33
proticting (protecting) 1. 34 and (— and) 1. 34 then (thin)
page 120 1. 1 answer. (—) 1. 2 world, (—) 1. 4, and
(—) 1. 8 silf (self) 1. 10 then (thin) 1. 11 till(, till) 1. 11 bid
(head) [1. 12 thin (then)] 1. 13 baporth (the bit) 1. 17
Frinchman (he) 1. 17 kipt (kept) 1. 17 and (, sure
enough, and) 1. 19 say, (—) 1. 20 ma-vourneen; (—)
1. 20; so (,) 1. 21 /, (I, sure enough—) 1. 25 off (aff)
1. 29 for (for the) 1. 30 entirelv (intirely) 1. 30 ; for
(—) 1 . 31 /, (—) page 121 1. 3 Frincb (French) 1. 7
And maybe (Maybe) 1. 7 silf (self) 1.9 a/ all (o.) 1. 9
all the time (o.) 1. 10 bad (o.) 1. 11 himsilf (himself)
1. 12 an (on) 1. 17-18 (which . . . stairs,) (
which . . stairs—) 1. at , says he, (—says he
—) 1. 21 , says (—).


TALES. 285
Griswold "variations from text.
[Page 110 1. 11 its (i'ts) I. 14 wouldn't (would'nt)
page 115 1. 8 acquintance (acquaintance) 1. 22 didn't
(did'nt) [not Broadway Journal.] 1. 22 them (thim) 1. 27
fortin (forten) page 116 1. 15 himsilf (himself) page
117 1. 22 riverence (reverence) page 119 1. 10 mesilf
(myself) 1. 17 thin (then) 1. 17 concated (consated) 1. 17—
18 behaviour (behavior) 1. 33 proticting (protecting)
page 120 1. 17 kipt (kept) 1. 27 complate (complete) 1. 28
rason (reason) 1. 30 stairs (stares)page X21 1. lohad (o.).
THE BUSINESS MAN (PETER PENDULUM).
Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, February, 1840;
Broadway Journal, II. 4.
The text follows the Broad-way Journal.
Griswold has few variations from the text.
This tale was considerably revised from the earlier form. "Peter
Pendulum '' was omitted from the title and the body of the tale,
being substituted in most cases by ' Peter Promt.' All the last part
of the tale from par. 1, page 130 to the end is a later addition.
Variations of Graham's from text.
Title. Peter Pendulum. The Business Man. No Motto.
Page 122 1. 1 / (My name is Pendulum — Peter Pen-
dulum. 1) 1. 3 despise, (o. c.) 1. 7 conceive (conceive
it) 1. 12 as "(as "a) 1. 14 are (are, nor should I have
been so well to do in the world as I am) 1. 22 bump (tre-
mendous bump) page 123 1. 1 arose (got up) 1. 17 you
ever (ever you) 1. 18 merchant (merchant,) 1. 23 any-
thing (any thing) 1. 23 way — (way — if ever, in short,
you see a conceited fellow running heels-over-head into
the patent-blacking, or linen-draping, or dog-meat line,)
1. 26 Now (Now my name is Peter Pendulum, and) 1. 29
and, (o. c.) 1. 30 clock.— (.) 1. 32 feel (feel in) page
124 1 - 3 everything (every thing) 1. 7 termed (ridiculously
termed) 1. 8 doing (, doing) 1. 10 that (that,) 1. 13 my
(my big) 1. 16 up (up,) I. 16 But, (o. c.) 1. 22 female


286 NOTES.
(Irish female) I. 23 reach, (reach. I shall remember that
fine old nurse in my will.) 1. 26 gone (even gone) 1. 26
, even then, (just then,) 1. 27 my . . . talk (old Mrs.
Pendulum talking) page 125 I. 1 and (and,) 1. 3 Tailor's
(Tailors') 1. 5 , onlv (o. c.) 1. 7 characterised (character-
ized) 1. 9 man: (;) 1. 13 , or (o. c.) 1. 19 Messieurs
(Messrs) 1. 29 Proffit (Pendulum) 1. 29 Advertiser (Ad-
vertisment) 1. 33 class; (,) page 126 1. 2 sattinet (satu-
nett) 1. 3 collar (collar,) 1. 3-13 July and Aug. not
repeated in Gentleman's Magazine. 1. 5 bob (bob—) I. 6
706 (206) 1. 7 Standing (To standing) 1. 8 new-style
(new-touch) 1. 13 6 (6 1/4) 1. 14 $2.g6 r/3 ($2.96 3/4)
1. 25 principle (n. i.) 1. 29 respect, (respect. My organ
of order revolted. So, thanks to that kind old Irish lady,
(whom I shall be sure to remember in my will,)) 1. 30
Messieurs (Messrs.) page 127 1. 6 , no doubt, (o. c.)
1. 17 or (, or) 1. 20 ;'/; (,) 1. 21 or . . . sty, (o.)
I.31 night, (o. c.) 1. 32 into (in) page 128 1. 3 ill- (illy)
1. 12 , in (o. c.) 1. 13 any line, (my line) 1. 22 too (, too)
1. 29 that, (o. c.) 1. 30 doavn, (p. c.) page 129 1. 1
party (set) 1. 1 glass, (o. c.) 1. 2 , then, (o. c.) 1. 4
Blew (Wiped) 1. 14 , Gruff (o. c.) 1. 19 twenty- (p. h.)
1. 26 , at last, (p. c.) 1. 27 all out of (out of all) 1. 28-
29 so that (o.) 1. 30 Proffit (Pendulum) 1. 31 adopt,
(o. c.) 1. 32—34 I . . . years. (I am now, therefore,
in the Mud-Dabbling way, and have been so for some
years.) page 130 1. 1 , is, (o. c.) 1. 3-4 in consequence
(, in consequence,) 1. 5 waliing (walking—) 1. 5 sore —
(o. d.) 1. 15 took (take) 1. 16 could (can) 1. 17 got (have
now got) 1. 19 failed (fails) 1. 19 got (gets) 1. 21 , in
(p. c.) 1. 21 respect, (p. c.) 1. 21 were (are) 1. 22 met
(meet) 1. 23 have put (put) 1. 23 had (did) 1. 24 suffered
(suffer) 1. 25-26 of . . . couldn't (can't of course,)
1. 26 Their (Their infamous) 1. 29 bodies (posteriors).
Gentleman's Magazine ends with par. I. page 130.
Variations of Grisvvold from text.
Page 122 1. 12, or (p. c.) page 123 1. 31 fellow
(fellow—) page 125 1. 7 characterised (characterized)


TALES. 287
1. 13 , or (o. c.) 1. 19 Messieurs (Messrs) 1. 22 quarreled
(quarrelled) 1. 24 gentlemen (gentleman) page 126 1. 8
cts. (cents) 1. 8 leg, (o. c.) 1. 1 1 home (o.) 1. 29 , at
once, (o. c.) 1. 30 , and (o. c.) 1. 30 Messieurs (Messrs)
page 127 1. 3 'Change (' Change') 1. 14 building- (o. h.)
1. 34 connexion (connection) page 128 1. 10 well (well-)
1. 25 fist, (p. c.)page 1291. 1 opera (opera-) 1. igtwenty-
(o. h.) 1. 30 Profit (Profit) page 130 1. 32 it (o.) page
131 1. 5 thus — (;—) 1. 16 quarreled (quarrelled) 1.
17 Grinding (s. 1.) 1. 27 buck (buck-) page 133 1. 20
income; ( : ) 1. 4 last (o.) 1. 19 the (a).
THE MAN OF THE CROWD.
Burton's Gentleman's Magazine, December, 1840;
1845.
The text follows 1845.
Griswold varies in a few cases of spelling or punctuation.
The tale was slightly revised from the earlier form. The note
p. 145 does not occur in the Gentleman's Magazine,
Variations of the Gentleman's Magazine from the text.
Motto. Itre (o. a.) Bruyire (o. a.) page 134 1. 1 es
(er) 1. 1 lasst (o. a.) 1. 23 ax'Kvc etc. (o. a.) [eirijtv]
(cTreev) [v] (of) 1. 25yet (, yet) 1. 26 Leibnitz (Combe)
page 135 1. 13 , bv (o. c.) 1. 14 lighted, (litten) 1. 19
, at length, (p. c.) 1. 31 quicklv; (,) page 136 1. 4 these
(o. c.) 1. 19 one; (,) 1. 23 carriage, (p. c.) 1. 24 deskism
(n. i.) 1. 28 gentry ;— (—) page 137 1. 7 ,' — if (—)
1. 27 them;— (—) 1. 30 , in (—) 1. 30 sharpers, (—)
page 138 1. 13 mob, (o. c.) 1. 18 , even, (o. c.) page 139
par. III. and IV. not new pars, in G. M. 1. 27 window,
(o. c.) 1. 33 scrutinizing (scrutinising) page 140 1. 1
sixty-five (o. h.) 1. 1 —a (o. d.) 1. 12 , the (o. c.)
1. 15 —of (,) I. 32 and (o.) 1. 34 roquelaire (n. i.)
page 141 I. 1-2 both . and (either . . .,
or) 1. 6 soon ending (threatening to end) 1. 15 , / (o. c.)


288 NOTES.
1. 25 ixiay (street) 1. 26 , that, (o. c.) 1. »; , / (o. c.)
page 143 1. 1 lighted (litten) 1. 4 browns, (o. c.) 1. S
steps. (. —) 1. 1: another (about an) 1. 16 of impatience
(of what seemed to be petulant impatience) 1. 1 6 by (bye)
1. 29 caoutchouc (gum) page 143 1. 14 pale (deadly pale)
1. 18 , at length, (o. c.) 1. 20 hour. ( ) 1. 23 subur-
ban (sub-urban) 1. 33 , in (o. c.) page 145 1. 2 , with
energy, (o. c. ) No note in G. M.
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 134 1. 1 es (er) 1. 2 lasst (o. a.) I. 23 accents sup-
plied by Ed. 1. 23 im/ev (eiretv) 1. 23 r/ (of) page 141
1. 31 Part (s. 1.) page 142 1. 34 behaviour (behavior)
page 143 1. 9 people-lets (o. h.) page 144 1. 10 that
(, that) page 145 1. 27 lasst (o. a.) [Motto] Griininger
(Griinninger).
The variations in the case of foreign words were made
by the Ed., the others follow 1845.
THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE.
Graham's Magazine, April, 1841; 1843; 1845.
The text follows 1845, with manuscript corrections from the
Lorimer-Graham copy.
Griswold varies from 184; very slightly.
The 1843 edition is very rare, and has not been collated.
1845 shows most careful and minute revision from the earlier
state. Verbal emendations are numerous. The opening para-
graph of Burton's was omitted in the revised form.
Variations of Graham's from the text.
Motto does not occur in Graham. The first paragraph
is as follows:
It is not improbable that a few farther steps in phreno-
logical science will lead to a belief in the existence, if not
to the actual discovery and location of an organ of analvsis.


TALES. 289
If this power (which may be described, although not de-
fined, as the capacity for resolving thought into its ele-
ments) be not, in fact, an essential portion of what late
philosophers term ideality, then there are indeed many
good reasons for supposing it a primitive faculty. That
it may be a constituent of ideality is here suggested in op-
position to the vulgar dictum (founded, however, upon
the assumptions of grave authority,) that the calculating
and discriminating powers (causality and comparison) are
at variance with the imaginative — that the three, in
short, can hardly coexist. But, although thus opposed
to received opinion, the idea will not appear ill-founded
when we observe that the processes of invention or crea-
tion are strictly akin with the processes of resolution —
the former being nearly, if not absolutely, the latter con-
versed.
Page 146 1. 1 The (It cannot be doubted that the) 1. 2
, are (o. c.) 1. 10 talents (talent) 1. 12 ; exhibiting (—)
1. 12 each (each and all) 1. 13 acumen (n. i.) 1. 16 The
(new dor.) 1. 16 of resolution (in question) page 147
1. 1 analvze (analyse) 1. 2 one (one,) 1. 7 ; / (—) 1. 9
tasked (taxed) 1. 11 bizarre (n. i.) 1. 12 wbat (that which)
1. 13 what (that which) 1. 21 unique (n. i.) 1. 25 acumen
(n. i.) 1. 25 abstract — (.) 1. 26 wbere (, where) 1. 30
recbercbi (n. i.) page 148 1. 1-2 into . . . miscalcu-
lation (into miscalculation or hurry into error) 1. 4 is (are)
1. 4 penver (powers) 1. 10 chess; (—) 1. 11 these (those)
1. 14a//(n. i.) 1. 1 5 wbence ((whatever be their character)
from which) 1. 19 , so far, (o. c.) 1. 26 that (where)
1. 28 , perhaps, (o. c.) 1. 30 , lies (o. c.) 1. 30 validity
(falsity) page 149 1. 9 , or (or of) 1. it recognizes
(recognises) 1. 12 feint, (o. c.) 1. 18 , to (o. c.) 1. 19
perception, (o. c.) 1. 27 remarkablv (utterly) 1. 28
after "analysis" insert : — I have spoken of this latter
faculty as that of resolving thought into its elements,
and it is only necessary to glance upon this idea to
perceive the necessity of the distinction just mentioned.
1. 33 , as (o. c.) page 150 1. 2 indeed, (o. c) 1. 5
Vol. 1V 19


290 NOTES.
than (than profoundly) 1. 11 became acquainted (con-
tracted an intimacy) 1. 13 excellent— (,) 1. 15 energy
(quondam energy) 1. 18 creditors, (o. c.) 1. 21-22
, upon . . , this, (o. c.) 1. 23 rigorous (vigorous) 1. 28
volume, (p. c.) 1. 31 that (the) 1. 31 whenever mere (only
when) 1. 33 reading; (—) 1. 33 , above all, (o. c.) 1. 34
and (and what I could only term) page 151 1. 1 of (, of)
1. 6 and (and,) 1. 17 visitors (visiters whomsoevei) 1. 27
perfect (utter) 1. 28 always; (,) 1. 30 ;lighted (, light-
ing) page 152 1. 2 and (in) 1. 6 can (would) 1. 9 it (o.)
1. 11 — «/'(,) 1. 11 display — (;) 1. 22 , / (o. c.) 1. 29
, iaias (o. c.) 1. 29 merelv (but) page 153 1. 3 words: —
(—) I. 22 quondam (n. i.) 1. 22 cobbler (cobler) 1. 24 re'le
(n. i.) 1. 24 Cribillons (o. a.) 1. 25 Pasquinaded (s. 1.)
1. 27 Heaven's (God's) 1. 28 is (be) page 154 1. 5 , in
fact, (o. c.) 1. 8 we (we now) 1. 11 charlatanerie (char-
latdnerie) 1. 15 rencontre (n. i.) 1. 17 Nichols (Nichol) 1. 26
What, (o. c.) 1. 29 continued: (—) page 155 1. 6 did;
(—) 1. 7 , of late, (o. c.) 1. 9 glancing, (o. c.) 1. 10
expression, (o. c.) 1. 11 stones, (o. c.) 1. 16 the (to your-
self the) 1. 17-18 'stereotomy" . pavement
(' stereotomic') Insert I. 18: — You continued in the
same inaudible murmur, with a knit brow, as is the
custom of a man tasking his memory, until I con-
sidered that you sought the Greek derivation of the
word 'stereotomy.' 1. 18 that . . stereotomy,
(that you could not find this) 1. 21 since (as) 1. 26 nebula:
(n. i.) 1. 27 was now (now was) 1. 32 a (a very peculiar)
1. 32 about (upon) 1. 32 which (whose meaning) 1. 34 Per-
ditit etc. (i.) page 156 1. 2 and, (o. c.) 1. 3 , / (o. c.)
1. 9 gait; (—-) 1. 13 , in fact, (o. c.) 1. 16 this, (o. c.)
1. 17 "Gazette des Tribunaux" (" Le Tribunal ") 1. 30
but, (o. c.) 1. 31 voices, (o. c.) 1. 32 contention, (o. c.) page
157 1. 1 everything (every thing) 1. 5 open, (o. c.) 1. 8
q. m. o. [so, also, 1. 26, etc.] 1. 17 mital (o. a.) 1. 23
). (.)) 1. 33 /'/, (o. c.) page 158 1. 2 , upon . . .
throat, (o. c.) 1. 10 off (off, and rolled to some distance)
1. 26 towards (toward) page 159 1. 6 found, (p. c.) 1. 28


TALES. 291
gendarme (n. i.) 1. 31 length, (o. c.) page 160 I. 6 landing,
(o. c.) 1. 22 door, (o. c.) 1. 24 the (this) 1. 33 restaurateur
(n. i.) 1. 34 French, (o. c.) page 161 1. 10 spoken
(— sometimes quick, sometimes deliberate — spoken)
1. 13 and (, and) 1. 14 Dieu (s. 1.) I. 15 banker (cap.)
1. 19 ). (.)) 1. 20 deposits (deposites) 1. 29 opened, (o. c.)
I. 33 bye- (a. h.) page 162 1. 6 Dieu (s. 1.) 1. 20 , both
room, (o. c.) 1. 23 locked, (o. c.) 1. 32 garrets
(garrets,) 1. 32 trap- (o. h.) page 163 1. 2 door, (o. c.)
I. 25 witnesses, (o. c.) page 164 1. 1 of (ox) 1. 17 , ap-
parentlv, (o. c.) 1. 24 tibia (n. i.) 1. 26 —a (,) 1. 26
chair— (,) 1. 27 large, heavy, (o. c.) 1. 27 would
(, would) page 165 1. 3 opinions, (o. c.) 1. 17 ever (ever,)
1. 22 comments (comments whatever) 1. 24 the murders
(it) 1. 26 them (it) 1. 30 acumen (n. i.) 1. 33 , not
unfrequentlv, (p. c.) 1. 34 ill (illy) page 166 1. 6 un-
availing, (o. c.) 1. 12 , necessarilv, (o. c.) 1. 13 a/ (, as)
1. 15 fact, (o. c.) 1. 15 , / (o. c.) 1. 17 her, (o. c.) 1. 18
mountain- (o. h.) 1. 22 way, (o. c.) 1. 23 retina (n. i.)
1. 24 , is (o. c.) 1. 28 but, (o. c.) 1. 28 former, (o. c.)
1. 30 thought; (—) 1. 33 or (and) page 167 1. 7 Prefect of
(Preflt de)\.7 Police (i.) 1. 9 The (This) 1. 13 *'/; as (, for)
1. 15 was (we) 1. 27 steps, (o. c.) 1. 28 and, (o. c.)
1. 33 , as usual, (o. c.) 1. 34 "Gazette des Tribu-
naux ("Tribunal") page 168 1. 1 thing— (,) 1. 3
gendarme (n. i.) 1. 4 The (Our) 1. 9 that (that—)
1. 9 menagais (n. a.) 1. 1 1 , now, (o. c.) 1. 12
until . . . day (until after we had taken a bottle
of wine together about noon the next day) 1. 18 said;
(,) 1. 20 The 'Gazette' (Le Tribunal) 1. 21 dismiss
(we will not revert to) 1. 28 , too, (o.) 1. 34 , with
. downward, (o. c.) page 169 1. 6 acumen
(n. i.) 1. 10 for (after) 1. 13 that (which) 1. 15 the direct
(exact) 1. 15 of (with) 1. 17 Insert:—He continued.
1. 23 committed, (o. c.) page 170 1. 21 peculiar (n. i.)
1. 27 or, (o. c.) 1. 30 After "distinctive" insert: —
Re-employing my own words, I may say that you have
pointed out no prominence above the plane of the ordi-


292 NOTES.
nary, by which reason may feel her way. 1. 31 observed
(pointed out) 1. 33 voice, (o. c.) page 171 1. 5 is (was)
1. 21 is, (o. c.) 1. 30 will (will just) 1. 30 points, (points
which have relation to this topic.) page VJ2 1. 7give (bias,
or give) 1. 10 are (were) 1. 11 arises (arose) 1. 14, •witb
myself, (o. c.) 1. 17 this (that) 1. 22 deed (dark deed) 1. 26
decision. —(.) 1. 31 seek (seek for) 1. 34 their (n. i.) page
173 1. 8 , bv . . . stated, (o. c.)l. 16 apparent (o.)
1. 17 , in reality, (o.) 1. 26 therein, (o. c.) 1. 27 windtnv,
(o. c.) 1. 29 sash, (o. c.) page 174 I. 4 £ (o. a.) 1. 7, as
(o. c.) 1. 7 fastened;—(,—) 1. %—xotbt . . . quarter
((the . . . quarter)) page 175 1. 1 board, (o. c) 1. 6-7
, if . . .so, (o. c.) 1. 11 result,— (—) 1. 18-19 a
quarter of (the eighth of) 1. 22 rust), (o. c.) 1. 24 , in
(o. c.)1.28—the . . . invisible, (o.) 1. 29 Pressing the
spring, (o.) 1. 29 , /(. I) 1. 34 assassin (assassins) page
176 1. 1 bis (their) 1. 2 closed (closed by them) 1. 2 , it
(o. c.) 1. 5 nail, — (—) 1. 1 o runs (ran) 1. 19 upper (lower)
1. 24 say, (o. c.) 1. 27 breadth (breadth,) 1. 28 , they
(o. c.) page 177 1. 1 bed, (o. c.) 1. 5 —Bv (o. d.) 1. 10
securelv (firmly) 1. 28 that (, that) page 178 1. 10 suggest
(convey the idea) 1. 12 revert (revert in fancy) 1. 26
word, (o. c.) 1. 32 motive, (o. c.) 1. 33 police (police,)
page 179 1. 3 it), (it,)) 1. 3 all (each and all) 1. 4
even (even a) 1. 5 , in general, (o. c.) 1. 7 nothing
(nothing, and care less,) 1. 30 irreconcilable (irreconcile-
able) 1. 32 how great (what) 1. 33 that (the degree of
that) page 180 1. 2 not new par. 1. 3 , now, (o. c.)
1. 5 tresses— (,) 1. 5 grey (gray) 1. 6 torn . .
roots (i.) 1. 13 half(o.) 1. 15 :the (. The) 1. 16 raz.or
(razor. Here again we have evidence of that vastness or
strength upon which I would fix your attention.) I. 16
look (look, and to look steadily,) 1. 19 coadjutor (coadju-
tor,) 1. 33 an agility . . . superhuman, (a strength
superhuman, an agility astounding) page 181 1. 6 felt
. . . flesh (shuddered) 1. 16 as (hair as) 1. 18 tbe . . .
fingers (among the tresses remaining upon the head) 1. 20
Dupin! (Good God,) 1. 20 unnerved; (,) 1. 22 is (was)


TALES. 293
1. 22 he; (,) 1. 22 but, (p. c.) 1. 23 this (upon this) 1. 24
/ (which 1)1. 25 facsimile (n. i.) 1. 29a ' ('a) 1. 32 /Aa/
(you will perceive that) page 182 1. 3 , now, (o. c.) 1. 3
tit the (at one and the) 1. 4 respective (o.) 1. 14 Tifrw (not
new par.) 1. 15 AY*/ . . . /Aj/ (Assuredly it is not,"
replied Dupin ; " read now this) 1. sgtawny (yellow) 1. 29
, too, (o.) 1. 31 ;,u/a (11. i.) page 183 I. 12 Ourang-(o. h.)
1. 13 Mr (this) 1. 17 *»or* (more than guesses) 1. 21 another
(another than myself) 1. 23 is (be) 1. 26 bv (for by) 1. 28
thus: (: —) 1. 31 tawny (tawny-colored) page 184 1. 3
, Faubourg (o. c.) 1. 4 troisiime (o. a.) 1. 10-11 which
. . . been (which has evidently, from its form, and from
its greasy appearance, been) 1. 19 saying (stating) 1. 20
error, (p. c.) 1. 23 right, (—) 1. 24 a/though .
murder (of the murder, although not guilty) 1. 31 is,
(o. c.)page 185 1. 9 great (greata) 1. 10 , at (o. c.) 1. 13
,get (—) 1. 17 use them nor show (show them nor use)
1. 20 , without ringing (without ringing or rapping) 1. 25
with decision (quickly) I. 29 A man (The visiter) 1. 29
evidentlv, — (—) 1. 30 person (man) 1. 33 whisker (a
world of whisker) page 186 1. 3 Neufcbatelisb (Neufchatel-
ish)l. 5 Dupin. (,) 1. 12 tone: (, —) 1. 16 no; (—) 1. 25
thing (reward) 1. 28 should I (what reward ought I to) 1. 31
these murders (that affair of the murder) 1. 32 the (these)
1. 33 toward (towards) page 187 I. 3-4 as
suffocation (up with an ungovernable tide of crimson) 1. 6
seat, (o. c.) 1. 6 violentlv (convulsively) 1. 7 a (a single)
1. 21 , certainlv, (o. c.) 1. 26 all (all that) 1. 30 , in (p. c.)
1. 34a//(all that) page 188 1. 1 half (half that) 1. 4 Be-
fore "What" insert : — I do not propose to follow the
man in the circumstantial narrative which he now detailed.
1. 14 toward (towards) 1. 21 the beast (his prisoner) 1. 22 it
(he) 1. 23 as (as it) 1. 23-24 Razor . . . , it was (The
beast, razor . . . was) 1. 25 it (he) 1. 26 /'// (his) 1. 32
of a (of a strong wagoner's) page 189 1. 3 despair; (—)
1. 5 its (his) 1. 6 it (him) 1. 6 It (He) 1. 11 light (light (the
only one apparent except those of the town-lamps)) 1. 13 it
(he) 1. 16 means, (o. c.) 1. 16 itself (himself) 1. 17


294 NOTES.
headboard (head-board) 1. 19 it (he) 1.23 brute (ape) 1. 27
it (the brute) 1. 28 lightning- (o. h.) page 190 1. 
igkt
(night-) 1. 5 been (been occupied in) 1. 8 The <victims
. . . window; (Their backs must have been towards the
window ;) 1. 10 from (by) 1. 10-11 ingress . . . screams
(the screams and the ingress of the ape) 1. t j it (he) 1. 13
would . . . been attributed (they would . . . have
attributed) 1. 15 animal (beast) 1. 23 wrath (ungovernable
wrath) 1. 24 its (his) 1. 24 it (he) 1. 26 its (his) etc. 1. 31
rigidwith (glazed in) 1. 31 the face (those of) 1. 32 was
(were) 1. nfear (dread) page 191 1. 1-2 of concealing
(to conceal) 1. 3 agony (apparent agony) 1. 3 agitation;
(,) I. 7 ladv, . . . headlong, (lady, with which he
rushed to the window, precipitating it immediately there-
from.) 1. 9 the casement (him) 1. 10 shrank (shrunk) I. 10
and, (o. c.) 1. 24 , upon (a. c.) 1. 26 Prefect of (Prefit de)
1. 26 Police (police) 1. 30 about (in regard to) 1. 32 them
(him) page 192 1. 1-5 Nevertheless . . . profound.
(In truth, he is too cunning to be acute.) 1. 5 In . . .
stamen. (There is no stamen in his wisdom.) 1. 6 , lite
(—) 1. 6 Goddess (s. 1.) 1. 7 La•vcrna, — (—) 1. 7 , at
best, (at least) 1. 8 creature (fellow,) 1. 10 his (that)
1. 10 ingenuity, (ingenuity which he possesses.) No
note on quotation 1. 12 page 192.
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 146 1. 14 [preternatural] (praetematural) page
147 1. 2 one (one,) 1. 13 is (, is) 1. 17 but (, but) 1. 18
ten (ten,) page 148 1. 16 but (, but) page 149 1. 11 can
(, can) page 151 1. 24 Sight (s. 1.) page 154 1. 11 
TALES. 295
HISTORY OF THE MS. OF '' THE MURDERS
IN THE RUE MORGUE."
The original manuscript of Edgar A. Poe's story,
"The Murders in the Rue Morgue," has a history
which may be of interest to admirers of the distinguished
author.
I have no data whereby I can fix the exact date at which
the manuscript came into my possession, but it was
about forty years ago — probably in the spring of 18 41, at
which time I was an apprentice in the office of Barrett
and Thrasher (afterwards Barrett and Jones), printers,
No. 33 Carter's Alley, Philadelphia. If my memory is
not at fault, Graham's Magazine, in whose pages the
story first appeared, was printed in the aforesaid office,
and the revised proof read in the Saturday Evening Post
Office, Chestnut Street above Third — within a door or
two of the old Public Ledger building.
After the story had been put in type and the proof
read, the manuscript found its way into the waste-basket.
I picked it from the basket, asked and obtained leave to
keep it, and took it to the residence of my father, with
whom I then boarded. Here it was put away so care-
fully that I have no recollection of seeing it for years.
In 1846, my father, leaving me in Philadelphia, re-
moved to Fawn township, York county, and thence a few
years later to Manchester, Md., and Darkesville, Va.
In these several pilgrimages he had, unknown to himself,
carried the Poe manuscript along with him — folded up in
one of the books of his library. Determined to return to
Pennsylvania, he made sale of his personal effects, and,
among a lot of old books offered, was found the Poe Ms.
It was at once recognized, rescued from the rubbish
among which it had so nearly been lost, and forwarded to
me—I having in the meantime (1847) removed to Lan-
caster, Pa., and commenced business as a daguerreo-
typist. Twice my daguerrean rooms took fire, and once


296 NOTES.
(March 8th, 1850) almost all my books, papers, pictures,
and apparatus were consumed — but the Poe manuscript,
folded within the leaves of an old music-book, escaped
the wreck.
About the year 1857 (I think it was), a grocery store,
occupying the first floor of the building in which were my
rooms, took fire and bumed furiously. The flames did
not reach my rooms, but the smoke did, and the firemen
drenched them with water, destroying books, papers, and
other property, but by good fortune the Poe manuscript
again escaped all injury except a slight discoloration.
From 1861 to 1864 I was in the army, but on my re-
turn therefrom I found the Poe manuscript in the old
music-book where I had left it on leaving home.
In the spring of 1 865 I took charge of the Swan Hotel,
Lancaster. Removing therefrom in 1869, a good deal
of rubbish was consigned to the ash-pile, the old music-
book sharing the fate of other worthless articles. My
next-door neighbor, John R. Watkins, thinking it had
been inadvertently thrown away, picked it from the
ash-pile and handed it to me. On opening the book I
again beheld the much-neglected and long-mislaid manu-
script! Resolved that it should not again be subjected to
so many unnecessary risks, I had it bound in its present
form.
(Signed) J. M. Johnston.
Lancastm, Pa., July 26, 1881.
Below are given the variations of the MS. of the
"Murders in the Rue Morgue," now in the Drexel
Institute, Philadelphia.
The variations are similar in very many instances to
those of the Graham Magazine form, but, on the other
hand, there are so numerous points of difference as to re-
quire the collection of the MS. variations in a separate
chapter.
A new abbreviation [a. 1.] will be found in these
notes, indicating that the word or words immediately


TALES. 297
preceding it are inserted in the MS. above the words
struck out.
Variations of the MS. of "The Murders in the Rue
Morgue" from the text.
[Words in black type arc cancelled ln the original MS.]
The first paragraph of the MS. is not found in the text,
but is the same as that given at the beginning of the
Graham variations of this tale [see page 288] except : —
1. 1 in [MS., in the] page 289 1. 8 , however, [" how-
ever" is inserted with caret in the MS.] 1. 9 that [MS.,
, however) that] 1. 10 and [MS. and the].
Page 146 L 1 The (It cannot be doubted that) 1. 2
, are (o. c.) 1. 11 talents (talent) 1. 12 hieroglvphics;
(—) 1. is each (each and all) 1. 13 acumen (n. i.) 1. 14
prae (pne) I. 16 The (New par.) 1. 16 of resolution (in
question) 1. 18 unjustlv, (;) page 147 1. 1 analvze (analyse)
I. 6 random; (—) 1. 9 tasked (taxed) 1. 11 bizarre (n. i.)
1. 12—13 t»bat (that which) 1. 15 committed, (o. c.) 1. 21
unique (n. i.) 1. 25 acumen (n. i.) 1. 25 abstract— (.)
1. 30 recherchl (n. i.) 1. 31 , the (o. c.) page 148 1. 1-2
into . . . miscalculation (into miscalculation or hurry
into error) I. 4 is (are) 1. 4 power (powers) 1. 10 chess;
(—) 1. 11 these (those) 1. 14a// (n. i.)l. 15 whence ((what-
ever be their character) from which) 1. 19 , so far, (o. c.)
1. 23 ,and (o. c.) 1. 24, or/ (o. c.) 1. 26 Mar (where) 1. 28
, perhaps, (p. c.) 1. 30 , lies (p. c.) 1. 30 validity (falsity)
1. 34/nMB (arising from) page 149 1. 9 , or (o. c.) 1. 11
it [inserted with a caret in MS.] 1. 11 suit (suit. Embar-
rassment, hesitation, eagerness, or trepidation) 1. 1 1 what
is (what is a card) 1. \7. , bv (o. c.) 1. 14 a card (a card
[a. 1.] anything 1mportant) 1. 18 , to (o. c.) 1. 19 per-
ception, (o. c.) 1. 24 outward (outwards) 1. 27 remark-
ablv (utterly) 1. 28 analvsis, (analysis. I have spoken of
this latter faculty as that of resolving thought into its
elements, and it is only necessary to glance upon this
idea to perceive the necessity of the distinction just men-


298 NOTES.
tioned.) 1. 33 , as (o. c.) page 150 I. 2 , indeed, (o. c.)
1. 5 trulv (highly truly) 1. 5 than (than profoundly) 1. 7
the (the reflective) 1. 10 spring (autumn spring [a. 1.])
1. 11 summer (winter summer [a. 1.]) 1. 11 became ac-
quainted (contracted an intimacy) 1. 13 excellent—(,)
1. 15 the (the quondam) 1. 16 beneath (beneath [a. 1.]
before) 1. 17 , thereto, c.) 1. 18 and, (o. c.) 1. 19 this,
(o. 0) 1. 20 necessaries (necessaries, without) 1. 24 Not
new par. 1. 27 volume, (o. c.) 1. 31 which a Frenchman
(of [a. 1.] in which a Frenchman only only [a. 1.]) 1. 32
/Ar (his) 1. 32 , too, (o. c.) 1. 33 ;and, (—and-) 1. 33
all, (o. c.) 1. 33 felt (felt all) 1. 34 and (and what I could
only term) page 151 1. 1 of (, of) 1. 2 / (, I) 1. 6 and
(and,) 1. 15 , we (o. c.) 1. 15 visitors (visitors whom-
soever) 1. 24 enamored (enamoured) 1. 27 perfect (utter)
1. 28 ; but (,) 1. 30 building; (,) page 152 1. 2 , arm
(o. c.) 1. 6 can (could) 1. 9 it (o.) 1. 10 exercise — (,)
1. 11 —and (;) 1. 21 O [0 looks small in MS.] 1. 22 , /
(o. c.) 1. 29 merelv (but) page 153 1. 3 words : — (—)
1. 5 Thfdtrc (Thedtre) 1. 10 afterward (afterwards) 1. 12
/, (o. c.) 1. 16—? (—) 1. 22 quondam (n. i.) 1. 24
rile (n. i ) 1. 24 Crtbellon's, (o. a.) 1. 25 Pasquinaded
(s. 1.) 1. 27 Heaven s (God's) 1. 28 is (be) page 154 1. 2
whomsoever (whatsoever) 1. 5 , in fact, (o. c.) 1. 8 wc (we
now) 1. 15 rencontre (n. i.) 1. 17 Dr. (Dr) 1. 24 is (is
1nvariably) 1. 29 continued: (—) page 155 1. 5 look (look
back) 1. 6 did ; (—) 1. 7 , of late, (o. c.) 1. 10 , at
(o. c.) 1. 11 pavement, (o. c.) 1. 12 stones, (o. c.) 1. 16
the (to yourself the) 1. 17 'stereotomy' . . . pavement
(Stereotomic) Insert 1. 18 :— You continued the same in-
audible murmur, with a knit brow, as is the custom (a. 1.)
habit of a man tasking his memory, until I considered
that you sought the Greek derivation of the word
stereotomy. 1. 18 that . stereotomy, (that you
could not find this) 1. 21 since (as) 1. 25 upward
(upwards) 1. 32 Latin [Latin occurs in margin in different
handwriting] 1. 32 lint (verse [a. 1.]) 1. 32 about which
(upon whose meaning)) 1. 34 Perdidet etc. (i.) page 156


TALES. 299
1. 2 and, (o. c.) 1. 3 , / (o. c.) 1. 9 gait; (—) 1. 13 , in
fact, (o. c.) 1. 15 Thtdtre (Theatre) 1. 16 this, (o. c.)
1. 17 "Gazette des Tribunaux" ('' Le Tribunal ") 1. 19
— This (o. d.) 1. 20 St. (S1) 1. 22 , apparentlv, (o. c.)
1. 25 daughter, (o. c.) 1. 28 crowbar (crow-bar) 1. 28
neighbors (neighbours) 1. 29 tixio (two gens d'armes) 1. 30
but, (o. c.) 1. 31 , in (o. c.) 1. 32 contention, (o. c.)
1. 32 and (proceeding and) page 157 1- 3 story, (p. c.)
1. 4 locked, (p. c.) 1. 5 open, (p. c.) 1. 8 0. y. m. [so,
also, 1. 26 etc.] 1 12 razor, (o. c.) 1. 15 out (up out
[a. 1.]) 1. 17 three (and three) 1. 17 mital (o. a.) 1. 18
bags, (o. c.) 1. 19 , whicb (o. c.) 1. 20 , were (o. c.)
1. 20 apparentlv, (p. c.) 1. 25 letters, (o. c.) 1. 27 but
(but,) 1. 30 doivnward (downwards) 1. 33 /'/, (o. c.)
page 158 1. 2 , upon . . . throat, (o. c.) 1. 6
bouse, (o. c.) 1. 8 ladv, (o. c.) 1. 10 ber, (p. c.) 1. 10 off
(off. and rolled to some distance) 1. 11 ixias (were was
[a. 1.]) 1. 18 The word 'affair' (These words are in-
serted above the text, at the top of the page as if they
had been forgotten or had belonged to another sheet] 1. 20
us, (p. c.) page 159 1. 4 neighborhood (neighbourhood)
1. 6 found, (p. c.) 1. 16-20 neighbors (neighbours) 1. 20
crotvbar (crow-bar) 1. 28 Musit (Muset) 1. 28 gendarme
(n. i.) 1. 30 the (the front door [gateivay appears in
margin]) 1. 31 endeavoring (endeavouring) 1. 34 gate
(door [gate appears in margin]) page 160 1. zgate (door
[gate appears in margin]) 1. 3 be (be the) 1. 6 landing,
(o. c.) I. 11 sacri (o. a.) Li5 Spanish. (Spanish. Might
have distinguished some words if he had been acquainted
with Spanish) 1. 18 neighbor (neighbour) 1. 21 Musit
(Muset) 1. 22 door, (o. c.) 1. 24 the (this) 1. 27 not
[inserted in text with a caret] 1. 28 but [inserted in text]
1. 28 language, (language, and, although he) 1. 33 res-
taurateur (n. i.) I. 34 Not . . . interpreter. [This
sentence is inserted with a caret] 1. 34 French, (o. c.)
page 161 1. 10 spoken (sometimes quick, sometimes de-
liberate, — spoken) 1. 13 sacrl (p. a.) 1. 13 and (, and)
1. 15 , «/ (o. c.) V. 19 ). (.)) 1. 20 deposits (deposites)


3oo NOTES.
1. 25 to (to Messieurs) 1. 29 opened, (o. c.) 1. 33 bye —
(o, d.) page 162 l. 4 French man. (–) l. 6 sacré (o. a.)
1. 6 Dieu (s. 1.) 1. 2 o windows, (o. c.) 1. 2 o room, (o. c.)
1. 23–24 locked . . . inside (open – not wide open,
but alar “locked with the key on the inside [“ locked
- inside' is written above the words lined out])
1. 26 waſ (was wide) 1. 27 beds, (o. c.) 1. 32 maniardes
(, mansardes [a period has been put in under parenthesis
mark]) page 163 l. 2 of (o.) 1. 2 , was (o. c.) 1.7
Morgue. Trianon Morgue — (the street of the murder).
[Trianon Morgue occurs above the . . . murder].) 1. 16–
24 Alberto . . . Russia [This paragraph is writ-
ten the length of the lateral margin] 1. 21 voice [inserted
above, with caret 1. 28 cylindrical [inserted with a
caret] 1. 28 brushes, (o. c.) page 164 1. 5 both then
(then both) l. 16 produced, (o. c.) 1. 17, by (o. c.) 1. 22
tibia (n. i.) l. 23 of (on) 1. 26 — a (,) 1. 26 chair —
(,) 1. 27 , heavy, (o. c.) 1. 27 weapon (weapon,) 1. 27
would (could) page 165 l. 3 of (, of) 1. 13 the (the Rue
Trianon) 1. 13–14 ºuartier St. Roch- (Quartier St Roch-
[written in the margin, with a line drawn to it] 1. 17
however (however, 1, 18 and (, and) 1. 22 comments
(comments whatever) 1. 25 the murders (it) 1. 26 them
(it) l. 26 I (In regard to the perpetration of the butchery
I) i. 27 trace (trace him) l. 29 shell (bizarrerie shell [a. 1.])
l. 3: There . . . musique 1. 32 , not unfrequently,
(o. c.) 1. 54 objects (results objects [a. 1.]) 1. 34 ill
(illy) page 166 l. 2 [Inserted in lateral margin] 1.6
, their ſo. c.) 1.6–7, for example, (o. c.) [for example is
inserted with caret] I. 8 without (without any 1. 12 , ne-
cºarily, (o. c.) 1. 13 as (, as) 1. 14 is (does is [a. 1.]) 1. 14
in tie in ) l ; ; fact, (o. c. 1, 1 ; more (most more [a. I.])
1. is . I (o. c.) 1. 17 lies lies oftener) l. 17 her, (o. c.)
1. - and not (than and not ſa, 1.]) 1, 18 mountain- (o. h.)
i. 20 of (of a star.) 1. 21 side-long (sidelong) 1. 22 way,
o. c. ) i. 22 to ward (toward ºn 1. 23 retina (retina — is
: see it distinctly – is) . . . , is to. c.) 1.28 but, (o. c.)
1, 28 fºrmer, (o. c. ) i. 5° tº gºt ; (–) 1. 33 or (and)


TALES. 301
page 167 1. 3 ," (o.) 1. 7 Prefect of Police (Prefft de Police,)
I. S o. q. m. I. 9 The (This) 1. 13 it; (it) 1. 13 as (for)
1. 13 quarter (Quartier) 1. 15 was (we) 1. 18 ordinary
(ordinary French hoo) 1. 20 sliding [The first letter of
this word in the MS. might be either s or g: more like
g] 1. 24 neighborhood (neighbourhood) 1. 27 , we (o. c.)
1. 3+ "Gazette des Tribunaux" ("Tribunal") page
168 1. 1 thing— (,) 1. 3 gendarme (n. i.) 1. 4 The
(Our) 1. 6 companion . . . papers. (This part of the
sentence is written in lateral right-hand margin. The
whole sentence has evidently been inserted at the end of
the paragraph) 1. 9 that (that—) 1. 11 , now, (o. c.)
I.12 murder, (o. c.) I. 12 until (until after we had taken
a bottle of wine together) 1. 12 noon day
[written in above line] 1. 12 about (about midnight) 1. 16
, which (o. c.) 1. 18 said; (,) 1. 20 The 'Gaxette' (Le
Tribunal) 1. 21-22 dismiss (we will not revert to) 1. 23
,for (o. c.) 1. 24 reason (reasons) 1. 28 , too, (o.) 1. 34
thrust, (o. c.) page 169 1. 1 downward, (downwards)
1. 9 the (the common-place — by these prominences from
the) 1. 9 that (that true) 1. 10 for (after) 1. 12 so much
[inserted with a caret] 1. 12 a/ (but as) 1. 13 that (which)
1. 13 In (Just in proportion as this matter has appeared
insoluble to the police, hu been that facility with which 1
have arrived at its solution In) 1. 15 the direct (an exact)
1. 15 of (with) 1. 16 astonishment, (astonishment. He
continued.) 1. 17 toward (towards) 1. 20 been [inserted
with a caret] 1. 20 in (, in) 1. 21 measure (measure,)
1. 31 •u>A«i(when the) page 170 I. 11 ladv [inserted with
caret] 1. 12 afterward (afterwards) 1. 21 itself, (o. c.)
1. 22 peculiar (n. i.) 1. 30 Yet (Re-employing my own
words I may say that have pointed out no prominence above
the plane of the ordinary, by which reason may feel her
way. Yet) 1. 31 observed (pointed out) 1. 33 , the (o. c.)
page 171 1. 8-9-11-12-13-14-15-16-17-18-22-30-3 1
-32 [double for single quo. marks] 1. 10 it (the voice
it [it occurs in the margin]) 1. 23 elicited (given elicited
[a. 1.]) 1. 28 without [written in the margin] 1. 29 will


3<3* KOTES.
(will just) 1 . 29 paints (points which have relation to this
topic) 1 . 32 *» stands (auaaaaa; [>w sounds is written after
awcMwav in the margin] ) 1. 32 itnrr (was were [a. 1.] )
page 172 1. 7 x4»a£i (should bias, or) l . 10 ore (were)
L 11 arises (arose) 1. 14 , ieste myself, (o. c.) l . 17 this
(that) 1. 22 </«i (dark deed) 1. 24 £** (this) L 26 — 1.et
(o. d.) L 28 Mademoiselle . . . found (the crime wxj
committed ["Mademoiselle . . . fbund" is written
above "the crime was committed" m the MS.]) I. 31
seek (seek for) 1. 34 their (n. L) page 173 1. t , by (o. c.)
I. S by (by the) 1. % suited, (o. c.) 1. 16 apparent (o.)
1. 17 , cs reality, (o.) l . 24 endeavored (endeavoured)
I. 27 , * (o-c.) 1 . 29 sash, (o. c) I. 31 A*** (been made)
page 174 1. 4 a (o. a.) l . 7 £ui<zV, (o. c.) L 7 fastened;
(.) 1. S Cbr ( (the) L 10 quarter. Q.) 1. 15 bad [inserted
with a caret] L 34 hand (arm) page 175 I. 1 board,
(o. c) L 3 neighbor (neighbour) 1. 4 in (in in) 1. 6 but,
(o. c.) 1. 7 so, (o. c.) 1. 9 been [inserted with a caret]
1. 9 once (once ww) 1. 11 traced (tracked) 1. 11 result,
(o. c.) L 17 tie (this) 1. 18-19 "quarter (an eighth)
1. a2 , and (o. c.) L 24 , in (o. c.) 1. 28 —the . . .
invisible (o.) 1 . 29 Pressing tie spring, (o.) L 32 , and
(o. c.) 1. 34 assassin (assassin.) page 176 1. 1 Us (their)
1. 2 closed (closed by them) 1. 2 , it (o. c.) 1. 5 nail,
(a. c.) 1. 8 been seen sufficiently) 1. 9 five . .
half (fix feet eight [a. I.] ["five . . . half" is written
directly after "eight" in the MS.]) 1. 16 old (old booses
[''mansions" is inserted above " very old"]) 1 . it door,
(o. c.) 1. 19 -upper (lower) 1. 24 say, (o. c.) 1. 28 , they
(o. c.) page 177 I- 1 bed, (o. c.) 1. 1 tar* to the wall
(open) 1. 2 two feet (four feet and a half) 1. 5 from
(might have from) 1. 5 — Bv (o. d.) 1. 6 two (four
[" two" is written in right-hand margin in the MS.] 1. 10
securelv (firmly) 1- 30 with (and ["with'' is inserted
above with a caret]) 1. 32 nationality (language nationality)
[a. 1.]) 1. 34 Syllabification (Ji inserted above with caret)
page 178 I.5, witbout (o. c.) 1. 7 discourse (discourse
— lor it had now assumed all the character of such.) 1. 9


TALES. 303
of (of egress) 1. 10 suggest (convey the idea) 1. is revert
(revert in fancy) 1. 26 word, (o. c.) 1. 31 , therefore,
(o. c) 1. 32 motive, (motive which has been) page 179
'.. 3 it), (it,)) 1. 3 ail (each and all) 1. 4 tour (day hour
[a. l.j) 1. 4 lives, (o. c.) 1. 4 nm (even a) 1. 5 , in
general, (o. c.) 1. 7 nothing (nothing and care less) 1. 22
murder (butchery) 1. 24 chimney, (o. c.) I. 25 downward
(downwards) 1. 26 a//, (o. c.) 1. 28 ,you (o. c.) L. 32
kow great (what) 1. 33 been (been the degree of) page
180 1. 3 not new par. 1. 3 o. q. m. 1. 3 , novo, (o. c.)
1. 4 hearth (sacking of the bedstead hearth [a. 1.]) 1. 6
term . . . roots, (i.) 1. 11 poiver [inserted with a
caret] 1. 12 half (o.) 1. 15 bodv: the (body. The) 1. 16
razor, (razor. Here again we have evidence of that
vastness of strength upon which I would fix your attention)
L 16 loot (look, and to look steadily) 1. 27 , by (o. c.)
1. 33 an agility . . superhuman, (a strength super-
human, an agility astounding,) page 181 1. 6 felt . . .
Jlesb (shuddered) 1. 8 neighboring (neighbouring) 1. 16
such (such hair) 1. 18 the . . . fingers (among the
tresses remaining upon the head) 1. 20 Dupin! (Good
God,) 1. 20 unnerved; (,) 1. 22 is (was) 1. 22 he; (—)
1. 23 decide (decide upon) 1. 23 glance (glance your eyes)
1. 23 at (upon) 1. 25 facsimile (n. i.) 1. 26 , and (o. c.)
1. 27 finger (finger-) 1. 27 nails, (o. c.) 1. 28 Messrs.
(Messieurs) 1. 29 Etienne, (p. c.) 1. 29 a '('a) 1. 29
spots, (o. c.) l-3i perceive, (p. c.) 1. 31 friend, (, '-)
1. 32 us, (—) page 182 1. 3 , now, (p. c.) 1. 3 , at the
(at one and the) 1. 3 time, (o. c.) 1. 4 respective (o.) 1. 9
, the (o. c.) 1. 14 This (not new par.) 1. 15 Read . . .
this (Assuredly it is not," replied Dupin — " read now
this) 1. 18 fulvous (tawney ["fulvous" is written in the
margin]) 1. 20 and activity [inserted with caret] 1. 22
horrors (horror) 1. 24 /, (I, ") I. 26 Outang, (o. c.) 1. 27
species (class) 1. 29 tawny (yellow) 1. 29 , too, (o.) 1. 32
tzuo (n. i.) page 183 1. 2 , bv (o. c.) 1. 3 voice, (o. c.)
1. 3 expression, (o. c.) 1. 5 (Montani . . confec-
tioner,) (o.) 1. 10 indeed it is (it is indeed) 1. 12 Ourang-


304. NOTES.
(o. h.) 1. 13 the (this) 1. 13 ; but, (. But) 1. 13-15 But
. . large. [These sentences are inserted in left-hand
margin. A caret occurs after ''chamber" in text, and
in margin before "but"] 1. 17 more — (more, than
such guesses [a. 1.]) 1. 21 another (another than myself)
I.21 then, [inserted with a caret] 1. 23 is (be) 1. 24 , upon
(o. c.) 1. 25 [caret after "Monde" in MS.] 1. 25-26
(a sailors) [in margin preceded by a caret]
1. 26 interest, (o. c.) 1. 26 sailors, (o. c.) 1. 28 , and
(o. c.) 1. 28 thus: (—) 1. 29 Caught [written in the
margin] 1. 29 In (Pound. In) 1. 30 inst., (inst) 1. 31
murder, (o. c.) 1. 31 large, (o. c.) 1. 31 tawny (tawny-
colored) 1. 33 sailor, (o. c.) 1. 33 vessel, (o. c.) page
184 1. 2 its (it's) 1. 3 No. —, (—) 1. 3 , Faubourg
(o. c.) 1. 4 trtisilme (o. a.) 1. 10-11 which . . . has
evidentlv been (which has evidently . . . been) 1. 10
form, (o. c.) 1. 11 one of [inserted above with caret]
1. 16 Now (Now,) 1. 17 in (, in) 1. 19 saying (stating,)
1. 20 , he (although not guilty, he) 1. 23 , a (—) 1. 24
although innocent (o.) 1. 24 , the (, although not guilty,
the) 1. 27 thus:— (—) 1. 29 it (blm ["it" written
above with caret]) page 185 1. 6 all, (p. c.) 1. 8 limit
(extent) 1. 9 great (great a) 1. 10 the animal (the animal
)'"the animal" inserted above with a caret]) 1. 10 , at
east, (o. c.) 1. 12 either . . . or [inserted above with
a caret] 1. 13 , get (—) 1. 14 it (him it [a. 1.]) 1. 20 en-
tered, (p. c.) 1. ao , and (or rapping, and) 1. 25 with
decision (quickly) 1. 29 A man (The visiter) 1. 29 evi-
dentlv, (o. c.) 1. 30 person, (man) 1. 31 , not (p. c.) 1. 33
mustacbio (mustache) 1. 33 Ay (by a world of) 1. 34 him
(o.) page 186 \. s , in . . . accents, (o. c.) 1. 3 Neuf-
chatelisb (Neufchatel-ish) 1. 7 ;a (—) 1. 12 tone: (—)
1. 16 no; (—) 1. 19 property? (.) 1. 20-23 s1r
(cap.) 1. 25 say, (o. c.) 1. 25 thing (reward) 1. 28
should I (reward ought I to) 1. 28 have? (.) 1. 29 /
(—I) 1. 31 these murders (that affair) 1. 31 Morgue
(Trianon ["Morgue" is written in margin]) 1. 32
the (these) 1. 33 toivard (towards) page 187 1. 1


TALES. 305
bis bosom (his coat pocket his bosom [a. 1.]) 1. 3-4
as . . . suffocation (with an ungovernable tide of
crimson) 1. 6 seat, (o. c.) 1. 6 violentlv (convulsively)
1. 6 of (as colorless as that of) 1. 7 a (a single) 1. 14
Morgue (Trianon ["Morgue" is written in margin])
1. 17 said, (o. c.) 1. 21 , certainlv, (o. c.) 1. 26 all (all
that) 1. 29 mind, (o. c.) 1. 30 measure, (o. c.) [The
side of paragraphs IV. and V. is torn, —and some of the
words are wanting in the MS.] 1. 34 all (all that) page
188 1. 1 half (half that) 1. 4 What (I do not propose to
follow the man in the circumstantial narrative which he
dow detailed. What) 1. 4, in substance, (o. c.) 1. 6 , of
one, (o. c.) 1. 6 pf . . . one [inserted
with a caret] 1. 6 , and (o. c.) 1. 7 on (upon) 1. 8 Ourang-
(o. h.) I. 9 , the (o. c.) 1. 13 it (him it [a. l.J),l. 14
toward (towards) 1. 15 neighbors (neighbours) 1. 17 foot,
(o. c.) 1. 19 sailors' (sailor's) 1. 20 of (, of) 1. 21 thebeast
(his prisoner) 1. 22 it (he) 1. 23 Razor (The beast, razor)
1. 24 it (o.) 1. 25 it (he) 1. 26 its (his) 1. 28 the (o.) 1. 31
a (a strong wagoner's) 1. 32 it, (o. c.) page 189 1. 1
window, (p. c.) 1. 3 ;the (—) 1. 3 in (, in) 1. 5 its
(his) 1. 6 /'/ (him) 1. 6 It (He) 1. 10 Morgue (Trianon)
1. 11 light (light (the only one apparent except those of the
town-lamps)) 1. 13 , it (he) 1. 16 itself (himself) 1. 17
headboard (head-board) 1. 19 Ourang-Outang (ape) 1. 19 it
(he) 1. 22 recapturing (re-capturing) 1. 23 brute (ape) 1. 25
it (his master could intercept him he it [a. 1.] ) 1. 25 ;'/ (he it
[a. 1.]) 1. s6hand, (o. c.) 1. 27 it (the brute) 1. 28 //;'//
. . . fugitive (to ascend still to follow the fugitive [a. 1.] )
1. 31 ;the (—)1. 34 bold (hold in horror) page 190 1. 2
night, (o. c.) 1. 3 Morgue (Trianon) 1. 4 nj]jA/ clothes
(night-clothes) 1. 5 been (been occupied in) 1. 5 iron (iron-)
1. 8-9 The victims . . . window; (Their backs must
have been towards the window ;) 1. 10 from (by) 1. 10-11
ingress . . . screams (the screams and the ingress of
the ape.) 1. 11 it (he) 1. 13 would (they would) 1. 13
been (o.) 1. 16 hair, (o. c.) 1. 16 was (had was) I. 17 it,
(o. c.) 1. 23 of (of ungovernable) 1, 24-26-28-29-30-31
Vol. IV. — ao.


306 NOTES.
lYr(his) 1. 24-27 it (he) 1. 29 Its (His) 1. 30 fell (adverted
fell [" fell" is written in the margin]) 1. 30 upon [a. 1.
without caret] 1. 31 the face (those) 1. 31 rigidwith
(glazed in) 1. 32 was (were) 1. 34 fear (dread) page
191 1. 1-4-5-21-23 ;'/ (him) 1. 2-9 its (his) 1. 3 an (an
apparent) 1. 3 agitation; (,) 1. 5 bedstead (bed-stead)
1. 7 , as (o. c.) 1. 7-8 wbich . . headlong (with
which he rushed to the window precipitating it immedi-
ately therefrom) 1. 9 the casement (him) 1. 13 , in (o. c.)
1. 19 , by (o. c.) 1. 20-21 It (He) 1. 26 Prefect of Police
(cbif de police) 1. 30 two, (o. c.) 1. 30 about (in regard
to) 1. 32 them (him) 1. 32 talk, (o. c.) page 19a 1. 1-5
Nevertheless . . profound (In truth, he is too cun-
ning to be acute.) 1. 5 In . . stamen. (There is
no stamen in his wisdom.) 1.6, like (—) 1. 7 Laioerna, —
(—) 1. 7 , at (o. c.) 1. 7 best (least) 1. 7 , like (o. c.)
1. 8 creature (fellow,) 1. 9 master (master-) 1. 9 cant,
(o. c.) 1. 10 bis (that) 1. 10 ingenuity (ingenuity which he
possesses) 1. 11 way (way which) Note not in the MS.


TALES. 3°7
THE ISLAND OF THE FAY.
Graham's Magazine, June, 1841 ; Broadway
Journal, II. 13.
The text follows the Broadway Journal."
Griswold differs slightly from the text in spelling and in punctua-
tion.
The note p. 196 is taken from Griswold, not occurring in the
Broadway Journal.
The text shows verbal revision, as well as some changes in punc-
tuation, from the earlier state. Several notes are found not occur-
ring in Graham.
Instead of the later motto occurs the sonnet "To Science," as
given below.
This will be found to vary from the other states of the poem.
(See Vol. VII., Notes, p. 156.)
Variations of Graham from the text.
The following sonnet is prefixed to this piece in Gra-
ham :—
Science, true daughter of old Time thou art,
Who alterest all things with thy peering eyes!
Why prey'st thou thus upon the poet's heart,
Vulture, whose wings are dull realities?
How should he love thee, or how deem thee wise
Who wouldst not leave him, in his wandering,
To seek for treasure in the jewelled skies,
Albeit he soared with an undaunted wing?
Hast thou not dragged Diana from her car?
And driven the Hamadryad from the wood?
Hast thou not spoilt a story in each star?
Hast thou not torn the Naiad from her flood?
The elfin from the grass? — the dainty fay,
The witch, the sprite, the goblin — where are they?
Anon.
Motto and note to 1. 1 do not occur in Graham.


308 NOTES.
Page 193 1. 1-4 MarmonUl, . . . spirit—(Mar-
montel, with the same odd confusion of thought and
language which leads him to give his very equivocal nar-
ratives the title of " Conies Moraux'') 1. 1-4-5 La mu'
sique, etc. (n. i.) 1. 5 lui-mime (o. h.) 1. 5 timoins (o. a.)
1. 14 in (, in) 1. 14 to (, to) 1. 16 are (are the most) page
194 1. 19 thought (intelligence) 1. 22 animakulac (n. i.)
1. 23 isohich . . . brain (in crystal, or of those which
infest the brain) 1. 25 animalculae (11. i.) 1. 26 and (, and)
I. 34 those (these) page 195 1. 10 principle (principle—)
1. 11 :/ (that it is) 1. 12 not extending (that it does not
extend) (notes pages 195-196 do not occur in Gra.) 1.
24 it (in its) page 196 1. 4 that, (o. c.) 1. 6 chose. (?)
1. 7 gainsaid (gatnsayed) 1.12a certain (the) 1. 13 island
(the island which are the subject of our engraving) 1. 17
it— (,) 1. 21 river (river,) 1. 27 rich (rich,) 1. 28 water-
fall (o. h.) 1. 28 sunset (sun-set) 1. 30 mid-way (o. h.)
1. 31 profuselv (fantastically) page 197 1. n sunlight
(sun-light) 1. 14 , and (o. c.) 1. 15 parti- (o. h.) 1. 16 of
(of joy) 1. 18 everything (every thing) I. 21 other (other,)
1. 31 not; (,) page 198 1. 8 thus (o.) 1. 14 up (up at
all) 1. 17 little . . . existence (their existence little
by little) 1. 21 death (cap.)l. 22 it? "(it? "— but what
fairy-like form is this which glides so solemnly along the
water?") I. 24 sank rapidlv (rapidly sank) 1. 26 daz-
zling, (o. c.) 1. 33 , in (o. c.) page 199 1. 6 , continued
(, — continued) 1. 9 unto (to) 1. 9 :for ( ;) 1. 13 Fay;
(;—) 1. 16 gloom (gloom,) 1. 21 slumbers (slumbers;) 1.
21 into (forth into).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 193 1. 3 as (, as) 1. 4 [lui-mime] (o. h.) 1. 5
[timoins'] (o. a.). Note : and (, and) "fashionable"
('fashionable') page 195 1. 9 as (, as) page 196 1. 6
chose. (?) 1. 7 gainsaid (gainsay ed) 1. 30 mid-way (o. h.)
Note '' Balzac" etc. does not occur in Broadway Jour-
nal. Note page 197 trthera. (.—) page 198 1. 10
reverie (revery) 1. 11, — said (,) I. 11 myself, (—) 1. 22
engulfs (ingulfs) 1. 26 o/(, of) 1. 33 , in (o. c.) page 199
1. 7 musinglv— (, musingly,).


TALES. 3°9
THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA.
Graham's Magazine, August, 1841; 1845.
The text follows 1845, which differs but little from Griswold.
Only slight changes are observed from the earlier form. One
objectionable sentence was eliminated entirely.
Variations of Graham from text.
No motto in Gra. Page 203 1. 10 God (s. 1.) page
204 1. 9 riduit (riduit) 1. 30 fwvoucf/ (uovov,tf) page 205
1. 14 wrapped (busied) 1. 14 spirits (souls) 1. 32 iaropeiv
(o. a.) 1. 34 irip (p. a.) page 206 1. 19 him, (o. c.) 1.26
departed, (o. c.) page 211 1. 2 which (o.) 1. 2 me,
(o. c.) 1. 3 , to (o. c.) 1. 7 months; (solemn months,)
After par. II. insert : — Mean time the worm, with its
convulsive motion, writhed untorturing and unheeded
about me. 1. 29 lustra (n. L).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Motto page 200 1. 1 [M^Uoira Tavrd] (o. a.) 1. 2
\J334\ (°-) Page 202 1. 30 solemnlv (solomnly) page
204 1. 9 [riduit (riduit)] 1. 30 [fiovoiKi)] (o. a.) 1. 33
, each (o. c.) page 205 1. 32 [ioro/wzv] (o. a.) L. 34
[irvp] (o. a.).
NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD.
Graham's Magazine, September, 1841 ; Broadway
Journal, II. 6.
The text follows the Broadway Journal.
Griswold differs slightly from the text.
The revision from the earlier date consisted of a number of orais-


31O NOTES.
lions, insertions, and verbal emendations, as well as the less impor-
tant changes in punctuation.
The title of this tale in Graham was "Never Bet Your Head.
A Moral Tale." The reference to "the Devil," except at the
end of the tale, belongs to the later revision.
Variations of Graham' s from text.
Title: Never Bet Your Head. A Moral Tale.
Page 212 1. 2 "Amatory Poems" (Amatory Poems,)
1. 3 importa (importo) 1. 8 Tomas (Torres) 1. 8 for the
(for so heterodox an) 1. 12 a (its) 1. 13 the (our modem)
I. 14 Philip . . . acute, (o.) page 214 1. 4
These (These ingenious) 1. 7-8 In short . . . shown
(It has been proved) 1. 25 by (bye) 1. 28-29 — bv . . .
me—(, by . . . me,)l. 29 appended;—(—) page 215
1. 3 Defuncti . . . and(p.)\. 14 (, or . . . trees,)
(o.) 1. 24 that (o.) page 216 1. 2 six months, (six) 1. 3
months (o.) 1. 5 months (o.) 1. 8 the (his) 1. 9 mustaches
(Melnotte frocks) 1. 16 , when . . . man, (o. c.)
1. 23 if (, if) I. 34 in (but in) page 217 1. 2 him —
(him, and) 1. 3-5 — he blew . . again (and he
bet me that I dared not do it again.) 1. 15 the Devil
(you) 1. 17 best (the best) 1. 18 the least (less) 1. 21 have
been (be) 1. 23 events (events,) 1. 25 man (man's) 1. 30
the Devil (jou) page 2l8 1. 9 ijuitczitistical (—fizzitisti-
cal) 1. 13 toad . . . say, (snakes and toads when he)
I. 13-14 awaken him (awakened them) I. 14 him (them)
1. 14 bis (their) 1. 18 lecture, (o. c.) 1. 25 the (his) 1. a6
tight, (tight, as if he was trying to crack nuts between the
lids.) 1. 34 hold my tongue (keep my opinions within my
own bosom.) page 219 1. 3 After " himself" comes in
Gra. I. 3-4 Did . . . character?', then Did . . . insult
bim? then Did . . . idiot?, then Did . . .
Dammit? then add: — Was I a fool ? — or was I not?
Was I mad ?— or was I drunk? 1. 12 the Devil (o.)
1. 19-21 won . . , mamma (won his little head.


TALES. 311
My maternal parent) 1. 21 was (n. i.) 1. 21 very (i.)
1. 23 But (o.) 1. 34 ;and (,) page 220 I. 13 the Devil
(me) 1. 14 unusual (extravagantly) 1. 20 the" (" The)
1. 21 certain (certain austere) 1. 26 way ; (,) 1. 34 as (as
is) page 221 1. 3 in (while in) 1. 3 this, (o. c.) 1. 10
,- —for (—) 1. 11 the Devil (me) 1. 25 girl's. His (girl's,
his) 1. 34 / (of his I) page 222 1. 3 non-plused (stumped)
1. 4 , therefore, (o.) 1. 6 about? (.') 1. 8 for (for,) 1. 10
particularlv (o.) 1. 10 he (, he) 1. 16 not new par. in
Gra. 1. 23 " Poets . . . America" (Doctor MeHenry's
epirs) 1. 29-30 , one . . . other, (o. c.) page 223 1. 1
at (in) 1. 7you -will (you'll) 1. 9 trial (trial,) 1. 16 and
. . . word (and devil the word more) 1. 20 Tobv (my
friend, Toby) 1. 21 his (his great) 1. 25 events, (o. c.)
1. 34 here, (o. c.) page 224 1. 6 reflection (reflection, then
looked down,) 1. 9 Dammit (Dammit, then put his fore-
finger to the side of his nose) 1. 12 stile (style) 1. 13-14
Lord's (Pue's) 1. 13 yet (yet to say) 1. 13 low, (p. c.)
1. 19 me (n. i.) 1. zj instant (instant of time) 1. 28 starting,
(o. c.) page 225 1. 3 moment, (moment, as they always
say in the crack historical novels,) 1. 3 and, (o. c.) 1. 5
back, (o. c.) 1. 17 anywhere ; — (—) 1. 18 bomaopathists
(homoeopathies) 1. 20 bridge; (,) 1. %lat (flat and sharp)
page 226 1. 2 and, (o. c).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 212 1. 3 [importa] (importo) page 214 1. 1
[Antinous] (Antinb'us) 1. 12 say (say,) page 216 1. 3
gnawing (knawing) page 218 1. 19 behaviour (behavior)
page 220 1. 4 arm (, arm) 1. 31 foot-way (o. h.) page
223 1. 8 he (he,) page 224 I. 10 , at (o. c.) page 225
1. 6 In (At) 1. 19 mean time (meantime).


312 NOTES.
THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK (A
SUCCESSION OF SUNDAYS).
The Philadelphia Saturday Evening Post, No-
vember 27, 1841; Broadway Journal, I. 19.
The text follows the Broadway Journal.
Griswold varies slightly from the text.
The earliest form of this tale was not collated.
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 226 I. » I (I,) 1. 12 ditty, (p. c.) page 228 1. 2
uncle (uncle,) 1. 16 that? (?—) 1. 19 want, (p. c.) 1. 31
wbv, (p. c.) page 229 1. 15 scull (skull) 1. 34 lie (, lie)
page 230 1. 2 >olte] (o. a.) 1. 2 [est-il] (o. d.) 1. S
, non (o. c.) 1. 17 grand- (o. h.) page 231 1. 5 grand-
(o. h.)l. 5, into(o. c. ) 1. io-ii (. . .) ([. . .])
1. 14 Carime (o. a.) 1. 14 [fiice] (o. a.) 1. 14 [resist-
ance] (p. a.) 1. 31 [son] (sa) 1. 31 [assuriment] (o. a.)
1. 31 [itaU] (o. a.) 1. 31 faible (foible) page 232 1. 8
us, (o. c.)T. 9 dining (dining-) 1. 11 , in (o. c.) 1. 24
, if* (o. c.) 1. 28 —Just (o. d.) 1. 32 friend (friends)
page 233 1. 6 queer, (o. c.) 1. 10 () ([]) 1. 13 ,you
(p. c.) 1. 14 bux.vc.ey (huzzy) 1. 22 bve (by) 1. 24 () ([])
1. 31 as (, no) 1. 34 pardons (pardon's B. J.) page 234
1. 2 because (, because) 1. 11 as (, as) 1. 21 too (, too)
1. 24 bve (by) 1. 27 ,you know, (o. c.) page 235 I. 3
Noia (Now,),
ELEONORA.
The Gift, 1842; Broadway Journal, I. 21.
The text follows the Broad-way Journal.
Griswold shows two verbal variations from the text, one 'adven-
tures' for ' adventurers,' a bad error. The other variations are of
little importance.
The Gift state is found considerably revised in the Broadway
Journal. Especially to be noted is the omission of two passages of
some length (see below).


TALES. 313
Variations of The Gift from text.
Page 236 1. 1 vigor (vigour) 1. 2 ardor (ardour) 1. 2
panion, (passion. Pyrros is my name.) 1. 3 settled, (o. c.)
1. 3 is or is (be or be) 1. 4 loftiest (loftier) I. 5 does (do)
1. 6 thought — (,) 1. 6 moods (n. i.) 1. 8-9 those . .
onlv (the dreamers) 1. 9 grey (gray) 1. 11 snatches, (p. c.)
I. 11 the (that) L . 14-15 ". . ." ('. . .') 1. i^and
(and,) 1. 16-17 " " (' ') 1- 18 . then, (o. c.) page 237
1. 1 life — (;) 1. 7 cannot (dare not) 1. 8 Oedipus (Sphynx)
1. 13 Valley-Grass ('Valley . . . Grass') 1. 13 Colored
(Coloured) 1. 15 far (singularly far) 1. 18 , to . . .
home, (o. c.) 1. 19 had, (o. c.) 1. 19 force, (o. c.)
1. 24 valley, — (—) 1. 27 , there (o. c.) 1. 28-29
the . . . Eleonora (Eleonora's eyes) 1. 30 , at
length, (p. c.) 1. 31 gorge, (o. c.) 1. 31 whence (from
which) 1. 32 ". . ." ('. . .') page 238 1. 1 , that
(p. c.) 1. 4 forever (for ever) 1. 5 The (And the) 1. 6
, through (o. c.) 1. 6 ways, (p. c.) 1. 7 as .
as (and) 1. 8 margins (brinks) 1. 8 until (, until) 1. 9
bottom, — (—) 1. 16 tones, (o. c.) I. 16 , in (o. c.) 1. 18
, here {p. c.) 1. 21 noon-day (noonday) 1. 21 towards
(toward) 1. 23 splendor (splendours) 1. 25 ,' so (—so)
1. 27 Zephvrs (s. 1.) 1. 28 doing (, doing) 1. 29 Sovereign
. . . Sun (s. 1.) 1. 29 the (, the) 1. 31 before (, before)
1. 31 Love (s. I.) page 239 1. 3 We . . . (new par.)
1. 6 wave, (;) 1. 8 race, (o. c.) 1. 11 Colored (Coloured)
1. 13 trees (trees,) 1. 15 deepened; (,) 1. 16 , in (p. c.)
1. 17 , ten (o. c.) 1. 19 gay (gay,) 1. 20 . The (; and)
1. 22 , at length, (p. c.) 1. 23 — sweeter (,) 1. 24 a (a
vast and) 1. 26 , all (o. c.) 1. 27 , day . . day,
. lower, (o. c.) 1. 31 forever (for ever) 1. 33
Seraphim (s. 1.) 1. 34 ; but she (— and here, as in all things
referring to this epoch, my memory is vividly distinct.
In stature she was tall, and slender even to fragility; the
exceeding delicacy of her frame, as well as of the hues of
her cheek, speaking painfully of the feeble tenure by
which she held existence. The lilies of the valley were


314 NOTES.
not more fair. With the nose, lips, and chin of the
Greek Venus, she had the majestic forehead, the naturally-
waving aubum hair, and the large luminous eyes of her
kindred. Her beauty, nevertheless, was of that nature
which leads the heart to wonder not less than to love.
The grace of her motion was surely etherial. Her fan-
tastic step left no impress upon the asphodel — and I
could not but dream as I gazed, enrapt, upon her alter-
nate moods of melancholy and of mirth, that two separate
souls were enshrined within her. So radical were the
changes of countenance, that at one instant I fancied her
possessed by some spirit of smiles, at another by some
demon of tears. She) page 240 1. 2 fervor (fervour) 1. 2
heart, (—) 1 3 as (, as) 1. + Colored (Coloured) I. 6
therein (o.) I. 7 (not new par.) 1. 7 one (, one) 1. 8 Hu-
manity (s. 1.) 1. 10 , as, (—as) 1. 11 Schiraz., (Shiraz)
1. 12 , again and again, (o. c.) 1. 14 Death (s. 1.) 1. 15
ephemeron (ephemera) 1. 18 one (one still) 1. 21 Colored
(Coloured) 1. 21 forever (for ever) 1. 22 now was (was
now) 1. 24 And (new par.) 1. 24 , then and there, (o. c.)
1. 26 voiv, (p. c.) 1. 26 , that (o. c.) 1. 27 Earth (s. 1.)
1. 31 Universe (s. 1.) 1. 33 Him (him,) 1. 33 Helusion
(Elysium) page 241 1. 4 burthen (burden) 1. 6 voiv, (—)
1. 6-7 (. . .) (o.) 1. 9 that, (o. c.) 1. 11 , i/(o. c.)
1. 12 but , (p. c.) 1. 13 , indeed, (o. c.) 1. 14, at least,
(o. c.) 1. 15 presence; (,) 1. 18 , witb . . . lips,
(o. c.) 1. 19 an (o.) 1. 21 . But (; but,) 1. 21 Time's
(s. 1.) 1. 23 ivith (into) 1. 24 a (a vague) 1. 26 on. —
(.) 1. 27 / (, with the aged mother of Eleonora, I)
1. 28 Colored (Coloured) 1. 28 ;— but a (. A) 1. it faded;
(,) 1. 31 , one by one, (o. c.) 1. 32 away; (,) I. 33, in
(o. c.) 1. 34 writhed (quivered) 1. 34 and .
dew (o.) page 242 1. 1 Life (s. 1.) 1. 4 gay (gay,)
1. 10 , it (—) 1. 10 little . . . little (, little
. . . little,) 1. 12 , at length, utterlv, (o. c.) 1. 13
the (, the) 1. 14 and, (p. c.) 1. 17 Colored (Coloured)
1. 25 onlv! (—) I. 26 the (unto the) 1. 26 bv (, by)
1. 28 , even thus, (p. c.) 1. 29 for (— I madly pined


TALES. 31$
for) I. 32 forever (for ever) page 243 1. 1 strange (strange
Eastern) 1. 4 Colored (Coloured) 1. 5 clangor (clangour) I. 8
its (her) 1. 10 Suddenlv, (o. c.) 1. 10 they (o.) 1. 11 ceased;
(,) 1 . 11 mine (my) 1. n eyes; (,) 1. 13 possessed — (,)
1. 14 me; (—) 1. \^from (, from) 1. 14 , far (o.) 1. 16 a
(a fair-haired and slender) 1. 16/0 (, to) 1. 18 without
(, without) 1. 19 (new par.) 1. 19 indeed (, indeed,)
1. 19-20 my passion (the passion I had once felt) 1. 20
valley (Valley,) 1. 21 fervor . . lifting (mad-
ness, and the glow, and the fervour, and the spirit-
stirring) 1. 22 whole (o.) 1. 24—Oh (Oh,) 1. 24
seraph (lady) 1. 25 Oh (Oh,) 1. 24-28 and . . .
her. (I looked down into the blue depths of her meaning
eyes, and I thought only of them, and of her. Oh,
lovely was the lady Ermengarde! and in that knowledge
I had room for none other. Oh, glorious was the wavy
flow of her auburn tresses! and I clasped them in a
transport of joy to my bosom. And I found rapture in
the fantastic grace of her step — and there was a wild
delirium in the love I bore her when I started to see upon
her countenance the identical transition from tears to
smiles that I had wondered at in the long-lost Eleonora.
I forgot — I despised the horrors of the curse I had so
blindly invoked, and I wedded the lady Ermengarde.)
1. 29 wedded; — (,) 1. 29 invoked; (,) 1. 30-31 And
. in (And in) 1. 31 night, (o. c.) 1. 32 came
(came once again) 1. 33 me; (,) 1. 33 familiar and (o.)
page2431. i-5" . - -" (' . - .')page243l. 34
saying: (—) page 244 1. 1 not new par. 1. 1 peace! —
(;) I. 1 Spirit (s. 1.) 1. 2 ruleth, (;) 1. 2 and, (o. c).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 236 1. 9 grey (gray) 1. 10 awaking (waking) 1. 16
and (; and) 1. 16 adventurers (adventures) page 238 1. 6
, through (o. c.) 1. 6 ways, (o. c.) 1. 16 , in (o. c.) 1. 25
so (so,) 1. 26 long (long,) page 239 1. 12 Strange
(Strange,) 1. 16 up, (o. c.) 1. 18 paths; (:) page 240


316 NOTES.
1. 17 , to (o. c.) page 241 I. 22 path (path,) 1. 28 Grass;
— (;) 1. 33 dark (dark,) page 242 1. 9 and (, and) 1. 13
lastlv (lastly,) 1. %6like (, like) 1. 26 death (death,) page
243 1. 14 Ob (Oh,) 1. 25 Oh (Oh,) 1. 27 / (, I) 1. 34
saying: (—).
THE OVAL PORTRAIT (LIFE IN DEATH).
Graham's Magazine, April, 1842; Broadway
Journal, II. 2.
The text follows the Bread-way Journal.
Griswold shows several variations in punctuation and spelling.
The tale appeared in the Broadway Journal with a new title,
shortened, and harmonized in language.
Variations of Graham's from text.
Title in Gra. "Life in Death."
Motto. Egli e vivo e parlerebbc se non osservasse la
regola del silenzio. [Inscription beneath an Italian
picture of St. Bruno.] [Corrected.]
The tale begins in Gra. as follows : —
My fever had been excessive and of long duration.
All the remedies attainable in this wild Appennine region
had been exhausted to no purpose. My valet and sole
attendant in the lonely chateau, was too nervous and too
grossly unskilful to venture upon letting blood — of
which indeed I had already lost too much in the affray
with the banditti. Neither could I safely permit him to
leave me in search of assistance. At length I bethought
me of a little pacquet of opium which lay with my to-
bacco in the hookah-case; for at Constantinople I had
acquired the habit of smoking the weed with the drug.
Pedro handed me the case. I sought and found the nar-
cotic. But when about to cut off a portion I felt the
necessity of hesitation. In smoking it was a matter or


TALES. 317
little importance hoixo much was employed. Usually, I
had half filled the bowl of the hookah with opium and
tobacco cut and mingled intimately, half and half.
Sometimes when I had used the whole of this mixture I
experienced no very peculiar effects; at other times I
would not have smoked the pipe more than two-thirds
out, when symptoms of mental derangement, which
were even alarming, warned me to desist. But the effect
proceeded with an easy gradation which deprived the in-
dulgence of all danger. Here, however, the case was
different. I had never siuallo-tued opium before. Lauda-
num and morphine I had occasionally used, and about
tbem should have had no reason to hesitate. But the
solid drug I had never seen employed. Pedro knew no
more respecting the proper quantity to be taken, than
myself— and this, in the sad emergency, I was left alto-
gether to conjecture. Still I felt no especial uneasiness;
for I resolved to proceed by degrees. I would take a
very small dose in the first instance. Should this prove
impotent, I would repeat it; and so on, until I should
find an abatement of the fever, or obtain that sleep
which was so pressingly requisite, and with which my
reeling senses had not been blessed for now more than a
week. No doubt it was this very reeling of my senses
— it was the dull delirium which already oppressed me —
that prevented me from perceiving the incoherence of my
reason — which blinded me to the folly of defining any
thing as either large or small where I had no preconceived
standard of comparison. I had not, at the moment, the
faintest idea that what I conceived to be an exceedingly
small dose of solid opium might, in fact, be an exces-
sively large one. On the contrary I well remember that
I judged confidently of the quantity to be taken by
reference to the entire quantity of the lump in possession.
The portion which, in conclusion, I swallowed, and swal-
lowed without fear, was no doubt a very small proportion
of the piece vihich I held in my band.
Page 245 1. 1 my -valet (Pedro) 1. 2 entrance, (p. c.)


318 NOTES.
1. 4 piles (fantastic piles) I. 8 After "abandoned" in-
sert :— Day by day we expected the return of the family
who tenanted it, when the misadventure which had be-
fallen me would, no doubt, be received as sufficient
apology for the intrusion. Meantime, that this intrusion
might be taken in better part, we had established ourselves
etc. 1. io lay (lay high) 1. 20 that (that having swallowed
the opium, as before told,) page 246 1. 7 After "gazed"
insert : — I felt meantime, the voluptuous narcotic steal-
ing its way to my brain, I felt that in its magical influence
lay much of the gorgeous richness and variety of the
frames — much of the etherial hue that gleamed from
the canvas — and much of the wild interest of the book
which I perused. Yet this consciousness rather strength-
ened than impaired the delight of the illusion, while it
weakened the illusion itself. 1. 10—11 placed it so (so
placed it) 1. 18 ripening (ripened) 1. 32 life, (life as if
with the shock of a galvanic battery.) page 247 1. 6 richly
Moresque, (richly, yet fantastically gilded and
filagreed.) 1. 7 thing (work) 1. 8 After "itself" insert : —
The loveliness of the face surpassed that of the fabulous
Houri. 1. 12 half slumber (half-slumber) 1. 14 , and (o. c.)
1. 1 $ frame, (o.c.) 1. 18 an hour (some hours) 1. 21 witb
(of) 1. 23 After "me" insert:— I could no longer
support the sad meaning smile of the half-parted lips, nor
the too real lustre of the wild eye. 1. 24 deep (a deep) 1. 34
beauty, (o. c.) page 248 1. 8 obedient, (o. c.) 1. 15
ghastlilv (ghastily) 1. 17 Yet (Ye) 1. 24 marvel, (o. c.)
1. 33 sat (sate) page 249 1. 7 he yet (yet he) 1. 8 voice,
(o. c.) 1. 9 turned (turned himself) 1. 9 to regard (round
to) 1. 10 : — Sbe (— who) 1. 10 dead!" (.) After 1. 10
insert: — The painter then added — ' But is this indeed
Death?"
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 246 1. 6 devotedlv (devoutedly) 1. 30 canvas
(canvass) page 247 1. 5 back-ground (o. h.) 1. 22 -which


TALES. 319
(which,) 1. 34 Art; (:) page 248 1. 7 pourtray (portray)
1. 10 canvas (canvass) I. 12 and (, and) 1. 13 wild
(wild,) 1. 30 canvas (canvass).
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH.
Graham's Magazine, May, 1842; Broadway
Journal, II. 2.
The text follows the Broadway Journal.
Griswold varies from the text in a few cases of spelling and punc-
tuation. The Broadway Journal shows some little revision from
Graham's.
Especially to be noted is the change of wording of several phrases,
and the omission of one sentence entirely.
Variations of Graham's from text.
Page 250 1. 2 ever been (been ever) 1. 3 Avatar
(A vat or) I. 5 bleedings (bleeding) 1. 8 pest ban (pest-ban)
1. 10 disease, (o. c.) 1. 12 dauntless (dauntless,) page 251
1. 2 or (from without or) I. 9 ballet (ballet) 1. 9 musicians,
(musicians, there were cards,) 1. 12 toward (towards) I. 17
Jt . . . masquerade, (joined to end of last par. in Gra.)
1. 17 scene, (o. c.) page 252 1. 6 lighted (litten) 1. 11 But
(But,) 1. 21 brazier (brasier) page 253 1. 2 the (its) 1. 3
came (came forth) 1. 6 of(\ii) 1. 7 momentarily (momently)
1. 12 and (and that) 1. 23 then (then there) page 254 1. 3
file; (fete,) I. 4 the (the costumes of the) 1. 15 these —
(,) 1. 19 for a moment (m omently) 1. 2 6 many tinted (many-
tinted) 1. 29 seven, (o. c.) 1. 30 :for (;) page 255 1. 6-7
length . . . clock. (length was sounded the twelfth hour
upon the clock.) 1. 15 too (again) 1. 23 of(at first of) page
256 1. 1 are (i.) 1. 1 made (properly made) 1. 16 of (of
the) I. 20 moment (moment,) 1. 23-24 courtiers
. . him— (group that stood around him,) 1. 24-
25 dares . . mockery? (dares thus to make
mockery of our woes?) 1. 25 Seize . . him —
(Uncase the varlet) 1. 26 at (to-morrow at) 1. 27 sunrise,
(o. c.) After 1. 27 insert :— Will no one stir at my


320 NOTES.
bidding ? —- stop him and strip him, I say, of these
reddened vestiges of sacrilege!" page 257 1. 16 orange—
(,) 1. 21 chambers, (—) 1. 27 and (and round) 1. 29
iuhich, (o. c).
Variations of Griswold from text.
Page 250 I. 3 [Avatar] (Avator) page 252 1 . 2 , in
(o. c.) 1. 21 fire (fire,) page 253 1. 8 hearken (harken)
1. 14 reverie (revery) page 254 1. 3 fite (o. a.) 1. 10
was (were) 1. 30 : for (;) page 255 1. 12 , that (o. c.)
I. is , too (o. c.) page 256 1. 18 role (o. a.) page 257
1. 3 who (who,) page 258 1. 2 grave-cerements (o. h.).
The Ed. introduces the corrected spelling Avatar.
Hearken follows Godey's and not Broadway "Journal.
THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN.
Snowden's Lady's Companion, October, 1842;
Broadway Journal, II. 11.
The text follows the Broadway Journal.
Variations of Grisviold from the text.
Page 259 1. 1 cut, (o. c.) 1. 10 [Priestley] (Priestly)
page 260 1. 7 that (that,) page 261 1. 15 which
(, which) 1. 22 connexions (connections) page 262 1. 30
[Puckler] (o. a.) page 263 1. 4 Thus, (o. c. ) page 264
1. 8 behold (behold,) page 265 1. 14), (,)) page 267 1. 19
and (, and) 1. 32 , and (o. c.) page 268 1. 27 and
(, and) page 269 1. 18 wbo, (o. c).
VARIATIONS OF THE STED MAN-WOOD-
BERRY, STODDARD AND INGRAM TEXTS
FROM GRISWOLD. THE GRISWOLD TEXT
IS IN PARENTHESES.
(For editions used in collation, see Vol. II., p. 306.)
THE CONVERSATION OF EIROS AND CHARMION.
Stod. page 5 1. 3 Meanwhile (Meantime).
Ing. page 5l.S interest (interests).


TALES. 321
MYSTIFICATION.
Stod. page 102 1. 7 a (some) 1. 7 exemplification (ex-
emplifications) I. 12 that I (I) page 103 1. 30 features
(human features) page 105 1. 7 developed (enveloped).
[Motto] 0- (of) [B.J.].
Ing. page 107 1. 5 special (especial) 1. 8 momentarilv
(momently) page 108 1. 11 Mein Herr (Mynheer) I. 25
Herr (Mynheer) page 11O 1. 19 Jobann (Johan) page
111 1. 18 my (me).
S. & W. page 104 1. 20 mystique (mystifique) page
106 1. 11 fanfaronnade (fanfaronade) page 109 1. 1
usual stiff (stiff) 1. 23 D' Audiguier (Andiguier) page
110 1. 19 Jobann (Johan).
WHY THE LITTLE FRENCHMAN WEARS HIS
HAND IN A SLING.
Stod. page 114 1. 1 visiting (wisiting) I. 3 intberist-
hin (intheristhin) (so other dialect words ending with
in) page 116 1. 8 com'd. (cum'd) 1. 8 could (cud) page
117 1. 16 illegant (iligant) 1. 30 desperate (dispirite)
page 120 1. 4 witb (wid) page 121 1. 2 stares (stairs)
1. 17 futman (futmen) 1. 24 lift (left).
S. & W. page 115 1. 34 Mistress (Mrs.) [and so
elsewhere].
Ing. page 114 1. 13 an (and) page 115 1. 1 will
(well) 1. 22 then (thin) page 117 1. 32 dispirate (dis-
perate) page 1l8 1. 22 she (I) page 120 1. 5 beauti-
(beautiful) 1. 10 woullv (wolly) 1. 15 woullv (wouly)
1. 20 jist (just) 1. 28 persave (percave) 1. 30 intirelv
(entirely) 1. 30 stairs (stares) 1. 32 let (lit).
THE BUSINESS MAN.
Ing. page 126 1. 4 dicky (dickey) 1. 6 76 (106) 1. 8
styled (style) page 127 1. 22 Esquimaux (Esquimau).
Vol. 1V. —»1


322 NOTES.
THE MAN OF THE CROWD.
Stod. page 134 I.23 ax^vc 7 Trpiv evijtv (afXvc oc npev
cTrijtv) page 139 1. 3 eyes were (eyes) page 141 I. 31
on (in).
S. & W. page 134 I. 23 17 (if) page 136 1. 30 stanch
(staunch) page 145 1. 26 Ortulus (Hortulus).
Ing. page 137 1. 15 and (with) page 140 1. 8 pic-
torial (pictural) 1. 34 roquelaure (roquclaire) page 144
1. ]rfr very (the).
THE MURDERS IN THE RUE MORGUE.
Stod. page 148 1. 3 known (noted) page 149 I. 12
manner (air) page 157 I. 14 witb (in) page 158 1. 31
person (persons) page 170 1. 16 precludes (preclude)
page 175 1. 33 T«" (The).
Ing. page 149 1. 9 or of (or) page 158 I.34 storey
(story etc.) page 165 1. 11 clue (clew) page 166 1. 17
truth lies not (depth lies) 1. 17 but (and not) page 174
1. 8 puts (put) page 182 1. 2 embedded (imbedded) page
188 1. 19sailors' (sailor's) page 190 1. 33 which (who).
S. & W. page 160 1. 19 deposed (deposes) page 171
1. 171111 (a).
S. & W. contains the two Lorimer-Graham corrections.
THE ISLAND OF THE FAY.
Ing. page 192 1. 4-jouissede (jouissent).
S. & W. page 195 1. 1 include (to include) page 197
1. 32 and the (and).
Stod. page 197 note, mare (nare).
THE COLLOQUY OF MONOS AND UNA.
Stod. page 200 motto the near (the) 1. 4 explanation
(explanations) page 202 1. 13 to (which to) page 207 1. 9
anterior (interior) page 209 1. 33 struck (struck the).
s. & w. page 209 1. 12 and (and the) page 210 1. 24
all of (M).


TALES. 323
NEVER BET THE DEVIL YOUR HEAD.
Stod. page 224 1. 12 style (stile).
Ing. page 214 1. 5 Powhattan (Powhatan) page 216
I. 9 moustachios (moustaches) page 219 1.8 a (to a) page
222 1. 22 in (on).
S. & W. page 2131. 2-8 Tomas (Thomas) 1. 3 importa
(importo) 1. 21 E•venus (Euenis) page 216 1. 9 mustaches
(moustaches) page 218 1. 12 Saint (St.).
THREE SUNDAYS IN A WEEK.
Ing. page 223 1. 14 Carene (CarSme).
THE OVAL PORTRAIT.
Stod. page 246 1. 6 devoutlv (devoutedly).
Ing. gives the longer form as found in Graham (see
note to the tale) with changes in spelling and punctuation.
S. & W. page 245 1. 6 Apennines (Appenines) page
246 1. 6 devotedlv (B.J.) (devoutedly) page 248 1. 4
palette (palet).
THE MASQUE OF THE RED DEATH.
Ing. page 251 1. 2 from without or (or) page 252
1. 25 eastern (western) page 254 1. 29 eastwardlv (west-
wardly).
S. & W. page 251 1. 3 avatar (Avator) page 251
1. 25 Prince's (duke's) page 253 1. 27 Prince (Duke)
page 254 1. 33 appalls (appals).
THE LANDSCAPE GARDEN.
Neither in S. & W. nor Ing. edition as a separate tale.





THE COMPLETE WORKS
OF
EDGAR ALLAN POE
VOLUME V.





CONTENTS.
Page
The Mystery of Marie Roget 1
The Pit and the Pendulum 67
The Tell-Tale Heart 88
The Gold-Bug 95
The Black Cat 143
The Elk 156
A Tale of the Ragged Mountains 163
The Spectacles 177
Diddling Considered as One of the Exact Sciences 210
The Balloon-Hoax «4
Mesmeric Revelation *41
The Premature Burial 25S
The Oblong Box 274
Thou Art the Man 29°
Notes:
Abbreviations used in the Notes 3,z
The Mystery of Marie Roget 313
The Pit and the Pendulum 31 7
The Tell-Tale Heart 319
The Gold-Bug 3"
The Black Cat 32
2
The Elk 32
2


vi CONTENTS.
Notes (continued): Pa«
A Tale of the Ragged Mountains .... 3»»
The Spectacles 324
Diddling Considered as One of the Exact Sciences 325
The Balloon-Hoax 3»5
Mesmeric Revelation 3*6
The Premature Burial 3*7
The Oblong Box 3»7
Thou Art the Man 329
Variations of the Stedman-Woodberry, Stoddard,
and Ingram Texts from Griswold . . . 330-333


EXPLANATORY NOTE
The lack of uniformity in spelling is intentional,
being found also in the original used for copy.
At the head of each tale will be found information
as to the dates of all early printings.
The figures 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the collected
editions of those dates : "Tales of the Grotesque and
Arabesque," 2 vols., Philadelphia, Lea & Blanchard,
1840; "Prose Romances of Edgar Allan Poe," Phila-
delphia, 1843; "Tales by Edgar A. Poe," New York,
Wiley & Putnam, 1845 (Duyckinck Selection).





THE
MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET.1
A SEQUEL TO "THE MURDERS 1N THE RUE MORGUE."
[Sno<wden's Ladv's Companion, November, December, 1842; Feb-
ruary, 1843; 1845.— Text corrected by J. L. Graham copy.]
Es giebt eine Reihe idealischer Begebenheiten, die der Wirklich-
keic parallel lauft. Selten fallen sie zusammen. Menschen
1 On the original publication of " Marie Rog£t," the foot-notes
now appended were considered unnecessary; but the lapse of several
years since the tragedy upon which the tale is based, renders it expe-
dient to give them, and also to say a few words in explanation of
the genera1 design. A young girl, Mary Cecilia Rogers, was mur-
dered in the vicinity of New York; and, although her death
occasioned an intense and long-enduring excitement, the mystery
attending it had remained unsolved at the period when the present
paper was written and published (November, 1842). Herein,
under pretence of relating the fate of a Parisian griutte, the author
has followed, in minute detail, the essential, while merely paralleling
the inessential facts of the real murder of Mary Rogers. Thus all
argument founded upon the fiction is applicable to the truth ; and
the investigation of the truth was the object.
The " Mystery of Marie Rogtk "' was composed at a distance from
the scene of the atrocity, and with no other means of investigation
than the newspapers afforded. Thus much escaped the writer of
which he could have availed himself had he been on the spot, and
visited the localities. It may not be improper to record, neverthe-
less, that the confessions of two persons, (one of them the Madame
Deluc of the narrative) made, at different periods, long subsequent
to the publication, confirmed, in full, not only the general conclu-
sion, but absolutely all the chief hypothetical details by which that
conclusion was attained.


2. TALES.
und Zufalle modificiren gewönulich die idealische Begebenheit,
so dass sie unvollkommen erscheint, und ihre Folgen gleichfalls
unvollkommen sind. So bei der Reformation: statt des Pro-
testantismus kam das Lutherthum hervor.
There are ideal series of events which run parallel with the real
ones. They rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally
modify the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and
its consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the Reforma-
tion; instead of Protestantism came Lutheranism. – Novalis."
Moralische Ansichten.
THERE are few persons, even among the calmest
thinkers, who have not occasionally been startled into
a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the supernatural,
by coincidence of so seemingly marvellous a character
that, as "irre coincidences, the intellect has been unable
to receive them. Such sentiments — for the half-
credences of which I speak have never the full force
of thºsht are seldom thoroughly stifled unless by
reference to the doctrine of chance, or, as it is techni-
cally termed, the Calculus of Probabilities. Now this
Calculus is, in its essence, purely mathematical ; and
thus we have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact in
science applied to the shadow and spirituality of the
most intangible in speculation.
The extraordinary details which I am now called upon
to make public, will be found to form, as regards sequence
of time, the primary branch of a series of scarcely
intelligible coincidences, whose secondary or concluding
branch will be recognized by all readers in the late
imurder of MARY Cecilia Rogers, at New York.
When, in an article entitled “The Murders in the
Rue Morgue," " I endeavored, about a year ago, to
depict some very remarkable features in the mental
1 The nºm de plume of Von Hardenberg.
* Page 146, Vol. IV.


*








2 TALES.
und Zufallc modificiren gewonulich die idealische Begebenheit,
so dass sic unvollkommen erscheint, und ihre Folgen gleichfalla
unvollkommen sind. So bei der Reformation: start des Pro-
testantismus kam das Lutherthum hervor.
There are ideal series of eveno which run parallel with the real
ones. They rarely coincide. Men and circumstances generally
modify the ideal train of events, so that it seems imperfect, and
its consequences are equally imperfect. Thus with the Re forma-
tion; instead of Protestantism came Lutheranism. — Novalis.1
Moralische Ansichten.
There are few persons, even among the calmest
thinkers, who have not occasionally been startled into
a vague yet thrilling half-credence in the supernatural,
by coincidences of so seemingly marvellous a character
that, as mere coincidences, the intellect has been unable
to receive them. Such sentiments — for the half-
credences of which I speak have never the full force
of thought — are seldom thoroughly stifled unless by
reference to the doctrine of chance, or, as it is techni-
cally termed, the Calculus of Probabilities. Now this
Calculus is, in its essence, purely mathematical; and
thus we have the anomaly of the most rigidly exact in
science applied to the shadow and spirituality of the
most intangible in speculation.
The extraordinary detailswhich I am now called upon
to make public, will be found to form, as regards sequence
of time, the primary branch of a series of scarcely
intelligible coincidences, whose secondary or concluding
branch will be recognized by all readers in the late
murder of Mary Cecilia Rogers, at New York.
When, in an article entitled "The Murders in the
Rue Morgue," *I endeavored, about a year ago, to
depict some very remarkable features in the mental
1 The n« dt plume of Von Hardenberg.
» Page 146, Vol. IV.


The MYsri-.KY oi- Makie K(Mj£i,
/liJtl'K /'l H'ofel











THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 3
character of my friend, the Chevalier C. Auguste
Dupin, it did not occur to me that I should ever
resume the subject. This depicting of character con-
stituted my design; and this design was fulfilled in
the train of circumstances brought to instance Dupin's
idiosyncrasy. I might have adduced other examples,
but I should have proven no more. Late events,
however, in their surprising development, have startled
me into some farther details, which will carry with
them the air of extorted confession. Hearing what I
have lately heard, it would be indeed strange should I
remain silent in regard to what I both heard and saw
so long ago.
Upon the winding up of the tragedy involved in the
deaths of Madame L'Espanaye and her daughter, the
Chevalier dismissed the affair at once from his atten-
tion, and relapsed into his old habits of moody reverie.
Prone, at all times, to abstraction, I readily fell in
with his humor; and, continuing to occupy our
chambers in the Faubourg Saint Germain, we gave the
Future to the winds, and slumbered tranquilly in the
Present, weaving the dull world around us into dreams.
But these dreams were not altogether uninterrupted.
It may readily be supposed that the part played by my
friend, in the drama at the Rue Morgue, had not failed
of its impression upon the fancies of the Parisian
police. With its emissaries, the name of Dupin had
grown into a household word. The simple character
of those inductions by which he had disentangled the
mystery never having been explained even to the Pre-
fect, or to any other individual than myself, of course
it is not surprising that the affair was regarded as little
less than miraculous, or that the Chevalier's analytical
abilities acquired for him the credit of intuition. His


4 TALES.
frankness would have led him to disabuse every in-
quirer of such prejudice ; but his indolent humor for-
bade all farther agitation of a topic whose interest to
himself had long ceased. It thus happened that he
found himself the cynosure of the policial eyes ; and the
cases were not few in which attempt was made to en-
gage his services at the Prefecture. One of the most
remarkable instances was that of the murder of a young
girl named Marie Roget.
This event occurred about two years after the
atrocity in the Rue Morgue. Marie, whose Christian
and family name will at once arrest attention from their
resemblance to those of the unfortunate "cigar-girl,"
was the only daughter of the widow Estelle Roget.
The father had died during the child's infancy, and
from the period of his death, until within eighteen
months before the assassination which forms the sub-
ject of our narrative, the mother and daughter had
dwelt together in the Rue Pavee Saint Andre;1
Madame there keeping a pension, assisted by Marie.
Affairs went on thus until the latter had attained her
twenty-second year, when her great beauty attracted
the notice of a perfumer, who occupied one of the
shops in the basement of the Palais Royal, and whose
custom lay chiefly among the desperate adventurers in-
festing that neighborhood. Monsieur Le Blanc1 was
not unaware of the advantages to be derived from the
attendance of the fair Marie in his perfumery ; and his
liberal proposals were accepted eagerly by the girl,
although with somewhat more of hesitation by Ma-
dame.
The anticipations of the shopkeeper were realized,
1 Nassau Street.
1 Anderson.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 5
and his rooms soon became notorious through the
charms of the sprightly grisette. She had been in his
employ about a year, when her admirers were thrown
into confusion by her sudden disappearance from the
shop. Monsieur Le Blanc was unable to account for
her absence, and Madame Roget was distracted with
anxiety and terror. The public papers immediately took
up the theme, and the police were upon the point of
making serious investigations, when, one fine morning,
after the lapse of a week, Marie, in good health, but
with a somewhat saddened air, made her re-appearance
at her usual counter in the perfumery. All inquiry,
except that of a private character, was of course im-
mediately hushed. Monsieur Le Blanc professed total
ignorance, as before. Marie, with Madame, replied to
all questions, that the last week had been spent at the
house of a relation in the country. Thus the affair
died away, and was generally forgotten; for the girl,
ostensibly to relieve herself from the impertinence of
curiosity, soon bade a final adieu to the perfumer, and
sought the shelter of her mother's residence in the Rue
Pavee Saint Andre'.
It was about three years after this return home, that
her friends were alarmed by her sudden disappearance
for the second time. Three days elapsed, and nothing
was heard of her. On the fourth her corpse was
found floating in the Seine,1 near the shore which is
opposite the Quartier of the Rue Saint Andre, and at
a point not very far distant from the secluded neigh-
borhood of the Barriere du Roule.2
The atrocity of this murder, (for it was at once
evident that murder had been committed,) the youth
1The Hudson.
1 Weebawken.


6 TALES.
and beauty of the victim, and, above all, her previous
notoriety, conspired to produce intense excitement in
the minds of the sensitive Parisians. I can call to
mind no similar occurrence producing so general and so
intense an effect. For several weeks, in the discussion
of this one absorbing theme, even the momentous
political topics of the day were forgotten. The Pre-
fect made unusual exertions ; and the powers of the
whole Parisian police were, of course, tasked to the
utmost extent.
Upon the first discovery of the corpse, it was not
supposed that the murderer would be able to elude, for
more than a very brief period, the inquisition which
was immediately set on foot. It was not until the ex-
piration of a week that it was deemed necessary to
offer a reward; and even then this reward was limited
to a thousand francs. In the mean time the investiga-
tion proceeded with vigor, if not always with judg-
ment, and numerous individuals were examined to no
purpose; while, owing to the continual absence of all
clue to the mystery, the popular excitement greatly in-
creased. At the end of the tenth day it was thought
advisable to double the sum originally proposed; and,
at length, the second week having elapsed without
leading to any discoveries, and the prejudice which
always exists in Paris against the Police having given
vent to itself in several serious imeutes, the Prefect took
it upon himself to offer the sum of twenty thousand
francs "for the conviction of the assassin," or, if
more than one should prove to have been implicated,
"for the conviction of any one of the assassins." In
the proclamation setting forth this reward, a full pardon
was promised to any accomplice who should come for-
ward in evidence against his fellow; and to the whole


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 7
was appended, wherever it appeared, the private pla-
card of a committee of citizens, offering ten thousand
francs, in addition to the amount proposed by the
Prefecture. The entire reward thus stood at no less
than thirty thousand francs, which will be regarded as
an extraordinary sum when we consider the humble
condition of the girl, and the great frequency, in large
cities, of such atrocities as the one described.
No one doubted now that the mystery of this mur-
der would be immediately brought to light. But
although, in one or two instances, arrests were made
which promised elucidation, yet nothing was elicited
which could implicate the parties suspected; and they
were discharged forthwith. Strange as it may appear,
the third week from the discovery of the body had
passed, without any light being thrown upon the subject,
before even a rumor of the events which had so agi-
tated the public mind, reached the ears of Dupin and
myself. Engaged in researches which had absorbed
our whole attention, it had been nearly a month since
either of us had gone abroad, or received a visiter, or
more than glanced at the leading political articles in
one of the daily papers. The first intelligence of the
murder was brought us by G , in person. He
called upon us early in the afternoon of the thirteenth
of July, 18 —, and remained with us until late in
the night. He had been piqued by the failure of all
his endeavors to ferret out the assassins. His reputa-
tion — so he said with a peculiarly Parisian air — was
at stake. Even his honor was concerned. The eyes
of the public were upon him; and there was really no
sacrifice which he would not be willing to make for the
development of the mystery. He concluded a some-
what droll speech with a compliment upon what he


8 TALKS.
was pleased to term the tact of Dupin, and made him
a direct, and certainly a liberal proposition, the precise
nature of which I do not feel myself at liberty to dis-
close, but which has no bearing upon the proper sub-
ject of my narrative.
The compliment my friend rebutted as best he
could, but the proposition he accepted at once,
although its advantages were altogether provisional.
This point being settled, the Prefect broke forth at
once into explanations of his own views, interspersing
them with long comments upon the evidence ; of
which latter we were not yet in possession. He dis-
coursed much, and beyond doubt, learnedly; while
I hazarded an occasional suggestion as the night wore
drowsily away. Dupin, sitting steadily in his accus-
tomed arm-chair, was the embodiment of respectful
attention. He wore spectacles during the whole inter-
view; and an occasional glance beneath their green
glasses, sufficed to convince me that he slept not the
less soundly, because silently, throughout the seven or
eight leaden-footed hours which immediately preceded
the departure of the Prefect.
In the morning, I procured, at the Prefecture, a full
report of all the evidence elicited, and, at the various
newspaper offices, a copy of every paper in which, from
first to last, had been published any decisive information
in regard to this sad affair. Freed from all that was
positively disproved, this mass of information stood thus:
Marie Roget left the residence of her mother, in the
Rue Pavee St. Andre, about nine o'clock in the morn-
ing of Sunday, June the twenty-second, 18 —. In
going out, she gave notice to a Monsieur Jacques St.
Mustache,1 and to him only, of her intention to spend
1 Payne.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 9
the day with an aunt who resided in the Rue des
Dromes. The Rue des Dromes is a short and nar-
row but populous thoroughfare, not far from the banks
of the river, and, at a distance of some two miles, in
the most direct course possible, from the pension of
Madame Roget. St. Eustache was the accepted suitor
of Marie, and lodged, as well as took his meals, at the
pension. He was to have gone for his betrothed at
dusk, and to have escorted her home. In the after-
noon, however, it came on to rain heavily; and, sup-
posing that she would remain all night at her aunt's,
(as she had done under similar circumstances before,)
he did not think it necessary to keep his promise. As
night drew on, Madame Roget (who was an infirm
old lady, seventy years of age,) was heard to express
a fear "that she should never see Marie again ;" but
this observation attracted little attention at the time.
On Monday, it was ascertained that the girl had
not been to the Rue des Dromes; and when the day
elapsed without tidings of her, a tardy search was
instituted at several points in the city, and its environs.
It was not, however, until the fourth day from the
period of her disappearance that any thing satisfactory
was ascertained respecting her. On this day, (Wednes-
day, the twenty-fifth day of June,) a Monsieur Beau-
vais,1 who, with a friend, had been making inquiries
for Marie near the Barriere du Roule, on the shore of
the Seine which is opposite the Rue Pavee St. Andre,
was informed that a corpse had just been towed ashore
by some fishermen, who had found it floating in the
river. Upon seeing the body, Beauvais, after some
hesitation, identified it as that of the perfumery-girl.
His friend recognized it more promptly.
1 Crommelin.


1O TALES.
The face was suffused with dark blood, some of
which issued from the mouth. No foam was seen, as
in the case of the merely drowned. There was no
discoloration in the cellular tissue. About the throat
were bruises and impressions of fingers. The arms
were bent over on the chest and were rigid. The
right hand was clenched; the left partially open. On
the left wrist were two circular excoriations, apparently
the effect of ropes, or of a rope in more than one
volution. A part of the right wrist, also, was much
chafed, as well as the back throughout its extent, but
more especially at the shoulder-blades. In bringing
the body to the shore the fishermen had attached to it
a rope; but none of the excoriations had been effected
by this. The flesh of the neck was much swollen.
There were no cuts apparent, or bruises which appeared
the effect of blows. A piece of lace was found tied
so tightly around the neck as to be hidden from sight;
it was completely buried in the flesh, and was fastened
by a knot which lay just under the left ear. This
alone would have sufficed to produce death. The
medical testimony spoke confidently of the virtuous
character of the deceased. She had been subjected,
it said, to brutal violence. The corpse was in such
condition when found, that there could have been no
difficulty in its recognition by friends.
The dress was much torn and otherwise disordered.
In the outer garment, a slip, about a foot wide, had
been torn upward from the bottom hem to the waist,
but not torn off. It was wound three times around
the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back.
The dress immediately beneath the frock was of fine
muslin; and from this a slip eighteen inches wide had
been torn entirely out — torn very evenly and with


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 11
great care. It was found around her neck, fitting
loosely, and secured with a hard knot. Over this
muslin slip and the slip of lace, the strings of a bon-
net were attached; the bonnet being appended. The
knot by which the strings of the bonnet were fastened,
was not a lady's, but a slip or sailor's knot.
After the recognition of the corpse, it was not, as
usual, taken to the Morgue, (this formality being
superfluous,) but hastily interred not far from the spot
at which it was brought ashore. Through the exer-
tions of Beauvais, the matter was industriously hushed
up, as far as possible; and several days had elapsed
before any public emotion resulted. A weekly paper,1
however, at length took up the theme; the corpse
was disinterred, and a re-examination instituted; but
nothing was elicited beyond what has been already
noted. The clothes, however, were now submitted
to the mother and friends of the deceased, and fully
identified as those worn by the girl upon leaving
home.
Meantime, the excitement increased hourly. Sev-
eral individuals were arrested and discharged. St.
Eustache fell especially under suspicion; and he failed,
at first, to give an intelligible account of his whereabouts
during the Sunday on which Marie left home. Sub-
sequently, however, he submitted to Monsieur G ,
affidavits, accounting satisfactorily for every hour of
the day in question. As time passed and no discovery
ensued, a thousand contradictory rumors were circu-
lated, and journalists busied themselves in suggestions.
Among these, the one which attracted the most notice,
was the idea that Marie Roget still lived — that the
corpse found in the Seine was that of some other un-
1 The " N. Y. Mercuiy."


12 TALES.
fortunate. It will be proper that I submit to the
reader some passages which embody the suggestion
alluded to. These passages are literal translations from
L'Etoile,1 a paper conducted, in general, with much
ability.
"Mademoiselle Roget left her mother's house on Sun-
day morning, June the twenty-second, 18 —, with the
ostensible purpose of going to see her aunt or some other
connexion, in the Rue des Dromes. From that hour,
nobody is proved to have seen her. There is no trace or
tidings of her at all. . . . There has no person, what-
ever, come forward, so far, who saw her at all, on that
day, after she left her mother's door. . . . Now,
though we have no evidence that Marie Roget was in the
land of the living after nine o'clock on Sunday, June the
twenty-second, we have proof that, up to that hour, she
was alive. On Wednesday noon, at twelve, a female
body was discovered afloat on the shore of the Barriere
du Roule. This was, even if we presume that Marie
Rogfit was thrown into the river within three hours after
she left her mother's house, only three days from the
time she left her home —three days to an hour. But it is
folly to suppose that the murder, if murder was committed
on her body, could have been consummated soon enough
to have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the
river before midnight. Those who are guilty of such
horrid crimes, choose darkness rather than light.
Thus we see that if the body found in the river was that
of Marie Rogfit, it could only have been in the water two
and a half days, or three at the outside. All experience
has shown that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the
water immediately after death by violence, require from
six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place
to bring them to the top of the water. Even where a can-
1The "N. Y. Brother Jonathan," edited by H. Hasting!
Weld, Esq.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 13
non is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at least five
or six days' immersion, it sinks again, if let alone. Now,
we ask, what was there in this case to cause a departure
from the ordinary course of nature? ... If the
body had been kept in its mangled state on shore until
Tuesday night, some trace would be found on shore of
the murderers. It is a doubtful point, also, whether the
body would be so soon afloat, even were it thrown in after
having been dead two days. And, furthermore, it is ex-
ceedingly improbable that any villains who had committed
such a murder as is here supposed, would have thrown
the body in without weight to sink it, when such a pre-
caution could have so easily been taken."
The editor here proceeds to argue that the body
must have been in the water " not three days merely,
but, at least, five times three days," because it was so
far decomposed that Beauvais had great difficulty in
recognizing it. This latter point, however, was fully
disproved. I continue the translation:
"What, then, are the facts on which M. Beauvais
says that he has no doubt the body was that of Marie
Roget? He ripped up the gown sleeve, and says he
found marks which satisfied him of the identity. The
public generally supposed those marks to have consisted
of some description of scars. He rubbed the arm and
found bair upon it — something as indefinite, we think,
as can readily be imagined — as little conclusive as find-
ing an arm in the sleeve. M. Beauvais did not return
that night, but sent word to Madame Rogfit, at seven
o'clock, on Wednesday evening, that an investigation was
still in progress respecting her daughter. If we allow that
Madame Rogfit, from her age and grief, could not go
over, (which is allowing a great deal,) there certainly
must have been some one who would have thought it
worth while to go over and attend the investigation, if


14 TALES.
they thought the body was that of Marie. Nobody went
over. There was nothing said or heard about the matter
in the Rue Pav6e St. Andr6, that reached even the occu-
pants of the same building. M. St. Eustache, the lover
and intended husband of Marie, who boarded in her
mother's house, deposes that he did not hear of the dis-
covery of the body of his intended until the next morning,
when M. Beauvais came into his chamber and told him
of it. For an item of news like this, it strikes us it was
very coolly received."
In this way the journal endeavored to create the im-
pression of an apathy on the part of the relatives of
Marie, inconsistent with the supposition that these rel-
atives believed the corpse to be hers. Its insinuations
amount to this : — that Marie, with the connivance of
her friends, had absented herself from the city for
reasons involving a charge against her chastity; and
that these friends, upon the discovery of a corpse in
the Seine, somewhat resembling that of the girl, had
availed themselves of the opportunity to impress the
public with the belief of her death. But L'Etoile was
again over hasty. It was distinctly proved that no
apathy, such as was imagined, existed; that the old
lady was exceedingly feeble, and so agitated as to be
unable to attend to any duty; that St. Eustache, so
far from receiving the news coolly, was distracted with
grief, and bore himself so frantically, that M. Beau-
vais prevailed upon a friend and relative to take charge
of him, and prevent his attending the examination at
the disinterment. Moreover, although it was stated
by L'Etoile, that the corpse was re-interred at the pub-
lic expense — that an advantageous offer of private sepul-
ture was absolutely declined by the family — and that
no member of the family attended the ceremonial: —


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 15
although, I say, all this was asserted by L'Etoile in
furtherance of the impression it designed to convey —
yet all this was satisfactorily disproved. In a sub-
sequent number of the paper, an attempt was made to
throw suspicion upon Beauvais himself. The editor
says:
"Now, then, a change comes over the matter. We
are told that, on one occasion, while a Madame B
was at Madame Roget's house, M. Beauvais, who was
going out, told her that a gendarme was expected there,
and that she, Madame B., must not say anything to the
gendarme until he returned, but let the matter be for him.
In the present posture of affairs, M. Beauvais
appears to have the whole matter locked up in his head.
A single step cannot be taken without M. Beauvais ; for,
go which way you will, you run against him. . . . For
some reason, he determined that nobody shall have any
thing to do with the proceedings but himself, and he has
elbowed the male relatives out of the way, according to
their representations, in a very singular manner. He seems
to have been very much averse to permitting the relatives
to see the body."
By the following fact, some color was given to the
suspicion thus thrown upon Beauvais. A visiter at
his office, a few days prior to the girl's disappearance,
and during the absence of its occupant, had observed
a rose in the key-hole of the door, and the name
"Marie" inscribed upon a slate which hung near at
hand.
The general impression, so far as we were enabled to
glean it from the newspapers, seemed to be, that Marie
had been the victim of a gang of desperadoes — that
by these she had been borne across the river, mal-


16 TALES.
treated and murdered. Le Commerciel,1 however, a
print of extensive influence, was earnest in combating
this popular idea. I quote a passage or two from its
columns:
"We are persuaded that pursuit has hitherto been on a
false scent, so far as it has been directed to the Barriere du
Roule. It is impossible that a person so well known to
thousands as this young woman was, should have passed
three blocks without some one having seen her; and any
one who saw her would have remembered it, for she in-
terested all who knew her. It was when the streets were
full of people, when she went out. . . . It is impossible
that she could have gone to the Barriere du Roule, or to
the Rue des Dromes, without being recognized by a dozen
persons; yet no one has come forward who saw her out-
side of her mother's door, and there is no evidence, except
the testimony concerning her expressed intentions, that she
did go out at all. Her gown was torn, bound round her,
and tied; and by that the body was carried as a bundle.
If the murder had been committed at the Barriere du
Roule, there would have been no necessity for any such
arrangement. The fact that the body was found floating
near the Barriere, is no proof as to where it was thrown
into the water. ... A piece of one of the unfortunate
girl's petticoats, two feet long and one foot wide, was
torn out and tied under her chin around the back of her
head, probably to prevent screams. This was done by
fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs."
A day or two before the Prefect called upon us,
however, some important information reached the police,
which seemed to overthrow, at least, the chief portion
of Le Commerciel's argument. Two small boys, sons
of a Madame Deluc, while roaming among the woods
1 N. Y. "Journal of Commerce."


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 17
near the Barriere du Roulc, chanced to penetrate a close
thicket, within which were three or four large stones,
forming a kind of seat, with a back and footstool. On
the upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the second a
silk scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handker-
chief were also here found. The handkerchief bore
the name " Marie Roget." Fragments of dress were
discovered on the brambles around. The earth was
trampled, the bushes were broken, and there was every
evidence of a struggle. Between the thicket and the
river, the fences were found taken down, and the
ground bore evidence of some heavy burthen having
been dragged along it.
A weekly paper, Le Soleil,1 had the following com-
ments upon this discovery — comments which merely
echoed the sentiment of the whole Parisian press:
"The things had all evidently been there at least three
or four weeks ; they were all mildewed down hard with
the action of the rain, and stuck together from mildew.
The grass had grown around and over some of them.
The silk on the parasol was strong, but the threads of it
were run together within. The upper part, where it had
been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and rotten,
and tore on its being opened. . . The pieces of
her frock torn out by the bushes were about three inches
wide and six inches long. One part was the hem of the
frock, and it had been mended ; the other piece was part
of the skirt, not the hem. They looked like strips torn
off, and were on the thorn bush, about a foot from the
ground. . There can be no doubt, therefore,
that the spot of this appalling outrage has been dis-
covered."
1 Phil. " Sat. Evening P«t," edited by C. J. Peterson, Esq.
Vol. V. — »


18 TALES.
Consequent upon this discovery, new evidence ap-
peared. Madame Deluc testified that she keeps a
roadside inn not far from the bank of the river, op-
posite the Barriere du Roule. The neighborhood is
secluded — particularly so. It is the usual Sundar
resort of blackguards from the city, who cross the
river in boats. About three o'clock, in the afternoon
of the Sunday in question, a young girl arrived at the
inn, accompanied by a young man of dark complexion.
The two remained here for some time. On their
departure, they took the road to some thick woods in
the vicinity. Madame Deluc's attention was called to
the dress worn by the girl, on account of its resem-
blance to one worn by a deceased relative. A scarf
was particularly noticed. Soon after the departure of
the couple, a gang of miscreants made their appear-
ance, behaved boisterously, ate and drank without
making payment, followed in the route of the young
man and girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and re-
crossed the river as if in great haste.
It was soon after dark, upon this same evening, that
Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son, heard the
screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn. The
screams were violent but brief. Madame D. recog-
nized not only the scarf which was found in the
thicket, but the dress which was discovered upon the
corpse. An omnibus-driver, Valence,1 now also testi-
fied that he saw Marie Roget cross a ferry on the
Seine, on the Sunday in question, in company with a
young man of dark complexion. He, Valence, knew
Marie, and could not be mistaken in her identitv.
The articles found in the thicket were fully identified
by the relatives of Marie.
'Adam.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 19
The items of evidence and information thus collected
by myself, from the newspapers, at the suggestion of
Dupin, embraced only one more point — but this was
a point of seemingly vast consequence. It appears
that, immediately after the discovery of the clothes as
above described, the lifeless, or nearly lifeless body of
St. Eustache, Marie's betrothed, was found in the
vicinity of what all now supposed the scene of the out-
rage. A phial labelled "laudanum," and emptied,
was found near him. His breath gave evidence of
the poison. He died without speaking. Upon his
person was found a letter, briefly stating his love for
Marie, with his design of self-destruction.
"1 need scarcely tell you," said Dupin, as he
finished the perusal of my notes, "that this is a far
more intricate case than that of the Rue Morgue ; from
which it differs in one important respect. This is an
ordinary, although an atrocious instance of crime.
There is nothing peculiarly outre about it. You will
observe that, for this reason, the mystery has been
considered easy, when, for this reason, it should have
been considered difficult, of solution. Thus, at first,
it was thought unnecessary to offer a reward. The
myrmidons of G were able at once to com-
prehend how and why such an atrocity might have been
committed. They could picture to their imaginations
a mode — many modes — and a motive — many
motives ; and because it was not impossible that either
of these numerous modes and motives could have been
the actual one, they have taken it for granted that
one of them must. But the ease with which these
variable fancies were entertained, and the very plausi-
bility which each assumed, should have been under-
stood as indicative rather of the difficulties than of the


2O TALES.
facilities which must attend elucidation. I have before
observed that it is by prominences above the plane of
the ordinary, that reason feels her way, if at all, in
her search for the true, and that the proper question in
cases such as this, is not so much 'what has occurred?'
as 'what has occurred that has never occurred before?'
In the investigations at the house of Madame L' Espan-
aye,1 the agents of G were discouraged and con-
founded by that very unusualness which, to a properly
regulated intellect, would have afforded the surest
omen of success ; while this same intellect might have
been plunged in despair at the ordinary character of all
that met the eye in the case of the perfumery-girl, and
yet told of nothing but easy triumph to the function-
aries of the Prefecture.
"In the case of Madame L'Espanaye and her
daughter, there was, even at the beginning of our in-
vestigation, no doubt that murder had been committed.
The idea of suicide was excluded at once. Here, too,
we are freed, at the commencement, from all suppose
tion of self-murder. The body found at the Barriere
du Roule, was found under such circumstances as to
leave us no room for embarrassment upon this impor-
tant point. But it has been suggested that the corpse
discovered, is not that of the Marie Roget for the con-
viction of whose assassin, or assassins, the reward is of-
fered, and respecting whom, solely, our agreement has
been arranged with the Prefect. We both know this
gentleman well. It will not do to trust him too far. If,
dating our inquiries from the body found, and thence
tracing a murderer, we yet discover this body to be
that of some other individual than Marie; or, if start-
ing from the living Marie, we find her, yet find her
1 See "Murdera in the Rue Morgue," page 146, Vol. IV.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 21
unassassinated — in either case we lose our labor; since
it is Monsieur G with whom we have to deal.
For our own purpose, therefore, if not for the purpose
of justice, it is indispensable that our first step should
be the determination of the identity of the corpse with
the Marie Roget who is missing.
"With the public the arguments of L'Etoile have
had weight ; and that the journal itself is convinced of
their importance would appear from the manner in
which it commences one of its essays upon the subject
— ' Several of the morning papers of the day,' it says,
'speak of the conclusive article in Monday's Etoile.'
To me, this article appears conclusive of little beyond
the zeal of its inditer. We should bear in mind that,
in general, it is the object of our newspapers rather to
create a sensation — to make a point — than to further
the cause of truth. The latter end is only pursued
when it seems coincident with the former. The print
which merely falls in with ordinary opinion (however
well fbunded this opinion may be) earns for itself no
credit with the mob. The mass of the people regard
as profound only him who suggests pungent contradic-
tions of the general idea. In ratiocination, not less
than in literature, it is the epigram which is the most
immediately and the most universally appreciated. In
both, it is of the lowest order of merit.
"What I mean to say is, that it is the mingled epi-
gram and melodrame of the idea, that Marie Roget
still lives, rather than any true plausibility in this idea,
which have suggested it to L'Etoile, and secured it a
favorable reception with the public. Let us examine
the heads of this journal's argument; endeavoring to
avoid the incoherence with which it is originally set
forth.


zz TALES.
"The first aim of the writer is to show, from the
brevity of the interval between Marie's disappearance
and the finding of the floating corpse, that this corpse
cannot be that of Marie. The reduction of this inter-
val to its smallest possible dimension, becomes thus,
at once, an object with the reasoner. In the rash
pursuit of this object, he rushes into mere assumption
at the outset. 'It is folly to suppose,' he says, 'that
the murder, if murder was committed on her body,
could have been consummated soon enough to have
enabled her murderers to throw the body into the
river before midnight.' We demand at once, and
very naturally, tvby? Why is it folly to suppose that
the murder was committed within five minutes after the
girl's quitting her mother's house? Why is it folly to
suppose that the murder was committed at any given
period of the day? There have been assassinations
at all hours. But, had the murder taken place at any
moment between nine o'clock in the morning of Sun-
day, and a quarter before midnight, there would still
have been time enough 'to throw the body into
the river before midnight.' This assumption, then,
amounts precisely to this — that the murder was not
committed on Sunday at all — and, if we allow
L'Etoile to assume this, we may permit it any liberties
whatever. The paragraph beginning 'It is folly to
suppose that the murder, etc.,' however it appears as
printed in L'Etoile, may be imagined to have existed
actually thus in the brain of its inditer — ' It is folly to
suppose that the murder, if murder was committed on
the body, could have been committed soon enough to
have enabled her murderers to throw the body into the
river before midnight; it is folly, we say, to suppose
all this, and to suppose at the same time, (as we are


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 23
resolved to suppose,) that the body was not thrown in
until after midnight' — a sentence sufficiently inconse-
quential in itself, but not so utterly preposterous as the
one printed.
"Were it my purpose," continued Dupin, "merely
to make out a case against this passage of L'Etoile's
argument, I might safely leave it where it is. It is
not, however, with L'Etoile that we have to do, but
with the truth. The sentence in question has but one
meaning, as it stands; and this meaning I have fairly
stated: but it is material that we go behind the mere
words, for an idea which these words have obviously
intended, and failed to convey. It was the design of
the journalist to say that, at whatever period of the
day or night of Sunday this murder was committed, it
was improbable that the assassins would have ventured
to bear the corpse to the river before midnight. And
herein lies, really, the assumption of which I complain.
It is assumed that the murder was committed at such
a position, and under such circumstances, that the
bearing it to the river became necessary. Now, the
assassination might have taken place upon the river's
brink, or on the river itself; and, thus, the throwing
the corpse in the water might have been resorted to,
at any period of the day or night, as the most obvious
and most immediate mode of disposal. You will
understand that I suggest nothing here as probable, or
as coincident with my own opinion. My design, so
far, has no reference to the facts of the case. I wish
merely to caution you against the whole tone of
L'Etoile's suggestion, by calling your attention to its
ex parte character at the outset.
"Having prescribed thus a limit to suit its own
preconceived notions; having assumed that, if this


24 TALES.
were the body of Marie, it could have been in the
water but a very brief time; the journal goes on
to say:
'All experience has shown that drowned bodies, or
bodies thrown into the water immediately after death by
violence, require from six to ten days for sufficient de-
composition to take place to bring them to the top of the
water. Even when a cannon is fired over a corpse, and
it rises before at least five or six days' immersion, it sinks
again if let alone.'
"These assertions have been tacitly received by
every paper in Paris, with the exception of Le Moni-
teur.1 This latter print endeavors to combat that por-
tion of the paragraph which has reference to ' drowned
bodies' only, by citing some five or six instances in
which the bodies of individuals known to be drowned
were found floating after the lapse of less time than
is insisted upon by L'Etoile. But there is something
excessively unphilosophical in the attempt on the part
of Le Moniteur, to rebut the general assertion of
L'Etoile, by a citation of particular instances militating
against that assertion. Had it been possible to adduce
fifty instead of five examples of bodies found floating
at the end of two or three days, these fifty examples
could still have been properly regarded only as excep-
tions to L'Etoile's rule, until such time as the rule
itself should be confuted. Admitting the rule, (and
this Le Moniteur does not deny, insisting merely upon
its exceptions,) the argument of L'Etoile is suffered
to remain in full force; for this argument does not
pretend to involve more than a question of the prob-
ability of the body having risen to the surface in less
1 The "N. Y. Commercial Advertiser," edited by Col Stone.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. J 5
than three days; and this probability will be in favor
of L'Etoile's position until the instances so childishly
adduced shall be sufficient in number to establish an
antagonistical rule.
"You will see at once that all argument upon this
head should be urged, if at all, against the rule itself;
and for this end we must examine the rationale of the
rule. Now the human body, in general, is neither
much lighter nor much heavier than the water of the
Seine; that is to say, the specific gravity of the human
body, in its natural condition, is about equal to
the bulk of fresh water which it displaces. The
bodies of fat and fleshy persons, with small bones,
and of women generally, are lighter than those of the
lean and large-boned, and of men; and the specific
gravity of the water of a river is somewhat influenced
by the presence of the tide from sea. But, leaving
this tide out of question, it may be said that very few
human bodies will sink at all, even in fresh water, of
their turn accord. Almost any one, falling into a
river, will be enabled to float, if he suffer the specific
gravity of the water fairly to be adduced in compari-
son with his own — that is to say, if he suffer his
whole person to be immersed, with as little exception
as possible. The proper position for one who cannot
swim, is the upright position of the walker on land,
with the head thrown fully back, and immersed; the
mouth and nostrils alone remaining above the surface.
Thus circumstanced, we shall find that we float with-
out difficulty and without exertion. It is evident,
however, that the gravities of the body, and of the
bulk of water displaced, are very nicely balanced, and
that a trifle will cause either to preponderate. An
arm, for instance, uplifted from the water, and thus


26 TALES.
deprived of its support, is an additional weight suffi-
cient to immerse the whole head, while the accidental
aid of the smallest piece of timber will enable us to
elevate the head so as to look about. Now, in the
struggles of one unused to swimming, the arms are
invariably thrown upwards, while an attempt is made
to keep the head in its usual perpendicular position.
The result is the immersion of the mouth and nostrils,
and the inception, during efforts to breathe while
beneath the surface, of water into the lungs. Much
is also received into the stomach, and the whole body
becomes heavier by the difference between the weight
of the air originally distending these cavities, and that
of the fluid which now fills them. This difference is
sufficient to cause the body to sink, as a general rule;
but is insufficient in the cases of individuals with small
bones and an abnormal quantity of flaccid or fatty
matter. Such individuals float even after drowning.
"The corpse, being supposed at the bottom of the
river, will there remain until, by some means, its specific
gravity again becomes less than that of the bulk of
water which it displaces. This effect is brought
about by decomposition, or otherwise. The result of
decomposition is the generation of gas, distending the
cellular tissues and all the cavities, and giving the
puffed appearance which is so horrible. When this
distension has so far progressed that the bulk of the
corpse is materially increased without a corresponding
increase of mass or weight, its specific gravity becomes
less than that of the water displaced, and it forthwith
makes its appearance at the surface. But decomposi-
tion is modified by innumerable circumstances — is
hastened or retarded by innumerable agencies; for
example, by the heat or cold of the season, by the


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 27
mineral impregnation or purity of the water, by its
depth or shallowness, by its currency or stagnation, by
the temperament of the body, by its infection or free-
dom from disease before death. Thus it is evident
that we can assign no period, with any thing like
accuracy, at which the corpse shall rise through de-
composition. Under certain conditions this result
would be brought about within an hour; under others,
it might not take place at all. There are chemical infu-
sions by which the animal frame can be preserved for-
ever from corruption; the Bi-chloride of Mercury is
one. But, apart from decomposition, there may be,
and very usually is, a generation of gas within the
stomach, from the acetous fermentation of vegetable
matter (or within other cavities from other causes)
sufficient to induce a distension which will bring the
body to the surface. The effect produced by the
firing of a cannon is that of simple vibration. This
may either loosen the corpse from the soft mud or ooze
in which it is imbedded, thus permitting it to rise when
other agencies have already prepared it for so doing;
or it may overcome the tenacity of some putrescent
portions of the cellular tissue; allowing the cavities to
distend under the influence of the gas.
"Having thus before us the whole philosophy of
this subject, we can easily test by it the assertions
of L'Etoile. 'All experience shows,'says this paper,
'that drowned bodies, or bodies thrown into the water
immediately after death by violence, require from six to
ten days for sufficient decomposition to take place to
bring them to the top of the water. Even when a
cannon is fired over a corpse, and it rises before at
least five or six days' immersion, it sinks again if
let alone.'


28 TALES.
"The whole of this paragraph must now appear a
tissue of inconsequence and incoherence. All experi-
ence does not show that ' drowned bodies ' require from
six to ten days for sufficient decomposition to take
place to bring them to the surface. Both science and
experience show that the period of their rising is, and
necessarily must be, indeterminate. If, moreover, a
body has risen to the surface through firing of cannon,
it will not 'sink again if let alone,' until decompo-
sition has so far progressed as to permit the escape of
the generated gas. But I wish to call your attention
to the distinction which is made between 'drowned
bodies,' and 'bodies thrown into the water immedi-
ately after death by violence.' Although the writer
admits the distinction, he yet includes them all in the
same category. I have shown how it is that the body
of a drowning man becomes specifically heavier than
its bulk of water, and that he would not sink at all,
except for the struggles by which he elevates his arms
above the surface, and his gasps for breath while beneath
the surface — gasps which supply by water the place
of the original air in the lungs. But these struggles
and these gasps would not occur in the body 'thrown
into the water immediately after death by violence.'
Thus, in the latter instance, the body, as a general rale,
would not sink at all—a fact of which L'Etoile is
evidently ignorant. When decomposition had pro-
ceeded to a very great extent — when the flesh had in
a great measure left the bones — then, indeed, but not
till then, should we lose sight of the corpse.
"And now what are we to make of the argument,
that the body found could not be that of Marie Roget,
because, three days only having elapsed, this body was
found floating? If drowned, being a woman, she


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 29
might never have sunk; or having sunk, might have
re-appeared in twenty-four hours, or less. But no
one supposes her to have been drowned; and, dying
before being thrown into the river, she might have
been found floating at any period afterwards what-
ever.
"'But,' says L'Etoile, 'if the body had been
kept in its mangled state on shore until Tuesday night,
some trace would be found on shore of the murderers.'
Here it is at first difficult to perceive the intention of
the reasoner. He means to anticipate what he imag-
ines would be an objection to his theory — viz.: that
the body was kept on shore two days, suffering rapid
decomposition — more rapid than if immersed in water.
He supposes that, had this been the case, it might have
appeared at the surface on the Wednesday, and thinks
that only under such circumstances it could so have ap-
peared. He is accordingly in haste to show that it
was not kept on shore; for, if so, 'some trace would
be found on shore of the murderers.' I presume you
smile at the sequitur. You cannot be made to see
how the mere duration of the corpse on the shore
could operate to multiply traces of the assassins. Nor
can I.
"' And furthermore it is exceedingly improbable,'
continues our journal, 'that any villains who had com-
mitted such a murder as is here supposed, would have
thrown the body in without weight to sink it, when
such a precaution could have so easily been taken.'
Observe, here, the laughable confusion of thought!
No one — not even L'Etoile — disputes the murder
committed on the bodv found. The marks of violence
are too obvious. It is our reasoner's object merely to
show that this body is not Marie's. He wishes to


30 TALES.
prove that Marie is not assassinated — not that the
corpse was not. Yet his observation proves only the
latter point. Here is a corpse without weight at-
tached. Murderers, casting it in, would not have
failed to attach a weight. Therefore it was not thrown
in by murderers. This is all which is proved, if any
thing is. The question of identity is not even ap-
proached, and L'Etoile has been at great pains merely
to gainsay now what it has admitted only a moment
before. 'We are perfectly convinced,' it says, 'that
the body found was that of a murdered female.'
"Nor is this the sole instance, even in this di-
vision of his subject, where our reasoner unwittingly
reasons against himself. His evident object, I have
already said, is to reduce, as much as possible, the
interval between Marie's disappearance and the find-
ing of the corpse. Yet we find him urging the point
that no person saw the girl from the moment of her
leaving her mother's house. 'We have no evidence,'
he says, ' that Marie Roget was in the land of the living
after nine o'clock on Sunday, June the twenty-second.'
As his argument is obviously an ex parte one, he should,
at least, have left this matter out of sight; for had any
one been known to see Marie, say on Monday, or on
Tuesday, the interval in question would have been
much reduced, and, by his own ratiocination, the prob-
ability much diminished of the corpse being that of the
grisette. It is, nevertheless, amusing to observe that
L'Etoile insists upon its point in the full belief of its
furthering its general argument.
"Reperuse now that portion of this argument which
has reference to the identification of the corpse by
Beauvais. In regard to the hair upon the arm,
L'Etoile has been obviously disingenuous. M. Beau-


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 31
vais, not being an idiot, could never have urged, in
identification of the corpse, simply hair upon its arm.
No arm is to it bout hair. The generality of the ex-
pression of L' Etoile is a mere perversion of the witness'
phraseology. He must have spoken of some peculi-
arity in this hair. It must have been a peculiarity of
color, of quantity, of length, or of situation.
''' Her foot,' says the journal, 'was small — so are
thousands of feet. Her garter is no proof whatever —
nor is her shoe — for shoes and garters are sold in
packages. The same may be said of the flowers in
her hat. One thing upon which M. Beauvais strongly
insists is, that the clasp on the garter found, had been
set back to take it in. This amounts to nothing ; for
most women find it proper to take a pair of garters
home and fit them to the size of the limbs they are to en-
circle, rather than to try them in the store where they
purchase.' Here it is difficult to suppose the reasoner
in earnest. Had M. Beauvais, in his search for the
body of Marie, discovered a corpse corresponding in
general size and appearance to the missing girl, he
would have been warranted (without reference to the
question of habiliment at all) in forming an opinion
that his search had been successful. If, in addition to
the point of general size and contour, he had found
upon the arm a peculiar hairy appearance which he had
observed upon the living Marie, his opinion might
have been justly strengthened ; and the increase of pos-
itiveness might well have been in the ratio of the
peculiarity, or unusualness, of the hairy mark. If,
the feet of Marie being small, those of the corpse were
also small, the increase of probability that the body was
that of Marie would not be an increase in a ratio
merely arithmetical, but in one highly geometrical, or


32 TALES.
accumulative. Add to all this shoes such as she had
been known to wear upon the day of her disappearance,
and, although these shoes may be 'sold in packages,'
you so far augment the probability as to verge upon
the certain. What of itself, would be no evidence
of identity, becomes through its corroborative position,
proof most sure. Give us, then, flowers in the hat
corresponding to those worn by the missing girl, and
we seek for nothing farther. If only one flower, we
seek for nothing farther — what then if two or three,
or more? Each successive one is multiple evidence —
proof not added to proof, but multiplied by hundreds
or thousands. Let us now discover, upon the deceased,
garters such as the living used, and it is almost folly to
proceed. But these garters are found to be tightened,
by the setting back of a clasp, in just such a manner as
her own had been tightened by Marie, shortly previous
to her leaving home. It is now madness or hypocrisy
to doubt. What L'Etoilesays in respect to this abbre-
viation of the garter's being an usual occurrence, shows
nothing beyond its own pertinacity in error. The
elastic nature of the clasp-garter is self-demonstration
of the unusualness of the abbreviation. What is made
to adjust itself must of necessity require foreign adjust-
ment but rarely. It must have been by an accident,
in its strictest sense, that these garters of Marie needed
the tightening described. They alone would have
amply established her identity. But it is not that the
corpse was found to have the garters of the missing
girl, or found to have her shoes, or her bonnet, or the
flowers of her bonnet, or her feet, or a peculiar mark
upon the arm, or her general size and appearance — it
is that the corpse had each, and all collectively. Could
it be proved that the editor of L'Etoile really enter-


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 33
tained a doubt, under the circumstances, there would
be no need, in his case, of a commission de lunatico
inquirendo. He has thought it sagacious to echo the
small talk of the lawyers, who, for the most part, con-
tent themselves with echoing the rectangular precepts of
the courts. I would here observe that very much of
what is rejected as evidence by a court, is the best
of evidence to the intellect. For the court, guiding
itself by the general principles of evidence — the rec-
ognized and booked principles — is averse from swerv-
ing at particular instances. And this steadfast
adherence to principle, with rigorous disregard of the
conflicting exception, is a sure mode of attaining the
maximum of attainable truth, in any long sequence of
time. The practise, in mass, is therefore philosophical;
but it is not the less certain that it engenders vast indi-
vidual error.1
"In respect to the insinuations levelled at Beauvais,
you will be willing to dismiss them in a breath. You
have already fathomed the true character of this good
gentleman. He is a busy-bodv, with much of romance
and little of wit. Any one so constituted will readily
so conduct himself, upon occasion of real excitement,
as to render himself liable to suspicion on the part of
the over-acute, or the ill-disposed. M. Beauvais (as
it appears from your notes) had some personal inter-
1 " A theory based on the qualities of an object, will prevent its
being unfolded according to its objects; and he who arranges topics
in reference to their causes, will cease to value them according tu
their results. Thus the jurisprudence of every nation will show that,
when law becomes a science and a system, it ceases to be justice.
The errors into which a blind devotion to principlei of classification
has led the common law, will be seen by observing how often the
legislature has been obliged to come forward to restore the equity its
scheme had lost." — Landor.
VOL.V. — 3


34 TALES.
views with the editor of L'Etoile, and offended him
by venturing an opinion that the corpse, notwithstand-
ing the theory of the editor, was, in sober fact, that of
Marie. 'He persists,' says the paper, 'in asserting
the corpse to be that of Marie, but cannot give a
circumstance, in addition to those which we have com-
mented upon, to make others believe.' Now, without
re-adverting to the faet that stronger evidence 'to make
others believe,' could never have been adduced, it may
be remarked that a man may very well be understood
to believe, in a case of this kind, without the ability to
advance a single reason for the belief of a second party.
Nothing is more vague than impressions of individual
identity. Each man recognizes his neighbor, yet there
are few instances in which any one is prepared to give
a reason for his recognition. The editor of L'Etoile
had no right to be offended at M. Beauvais' unreason-
ing belief.
"The suspicious circumstances which invest him,
will be found to tally much better with my hypothesis
of romantic busy-bodyism, than with the reasoner's sug-
gestion of guilt. Once adopting the more charitable
interpretation, we shall find no difficulty in compre-
hending the rose in the key-hole; the 'Marie' upon
the slate; the 'elbowing the male relatives out of the
way ;' the 'aversion to permitting them to see the
body ;' the caution given to Madame B , that she
must hold no conversation with the gendarme until
his return (Beauvais') ; and, lastly, his apparent de-
termination 'that nobody should have anything to do
with the proceedings except himself.' It seems to me
unquestionable that Beauvais was a suitor of Marie's;
that she coquetted with him ; and that he was ambitious
of being thought to enjoy her fullest intimacy and con-


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 35
fidencc. I shall say nothing more upon this point; and,
as the evidence fully rebuts the assertion of L'Etoile,
touching the matter of apathy on the part of the mother
and other relatives — an apathy inconsistent with the
supposition of their believing the corpse to be that of
the perfumery-girl — we shall now proceed as if the
question of identity were settled to our perfect satis-
faction."
"And what," I here demanded, "do you think
of the opinions of Le Commerciel ?''
"That, in spirit, they are far more worthy of
attention than any which have been promulgated upon
the subject. The deductions from the premises are
philosophical and acute; but the premises, in two
instances, at least, are founded in imperfect observation.
Le Commerciel wishes to intimate that Marie was
seized by some gang of low ruffians not far from her
mother's door. 'It is impossible,' it urges, 'that a
person so well known to thousands as this young woman
was, should have passed three blocks without some one
having seen her.' This is the idea of a man long
resident in Paris — a public man — and one whose
walks to and fro in the city, have been mostly limited
to the vicinity of the public offices. He is aware that
be seldom passes so far as a dozen blocks from his own
bureau, without being recognized and accosted. And,
knowing the extent of his personal acquaintance with
others, and of others with him, he compares his no-
toriety with that of the perfumery-girl, finds no great
difference between them, and reaches at once the
conclusion that she, in her walks, would be equally
liable to recognition with himself in his. This could only
be the case were her walks of the same unvarying,
methodical character, and within the same species of


36 TALES.
limited region as are his own. He passes to and fro,
at regular intervals, within a confined periphery,
abounding in individuals who are led to observation
of his person through interest in the kindred nature of
his occupation with their own. But the walks of Marie
may, in general, be supposed discursive. In this par-
ticular instance, it will be understood as most probable,
that she proceeded upon a route of more than average
diversity from her accustomed ones. The parallel
which we imagine to have existed in the mind of
Le Commerciel would only be sustained in the event
of the two individuals traversing the whole city. In
this case, granting the personal acquaintances to be
equal, the chances would be also equal that an equal
number of personal rencounters would be made. For
my own part, I should hold it not only as possible,
but as very far more than probable, that Marie might
have proceeded, at any given period, by any one of the
many routes between her own residence and that of her
aunt, without meeting a single individual whom she
knew, or by whom she was known. In viewing this
question in its full and proper light, we must hold
steadily in mind the great disproportion between the
personal acquaintances of even the most noted individual
in Paris, and the entire population of Paris itself.
"But whatever force there may still appear to be in
the suggestion of Le Commerciel, will be much dimin-
ished when we take into consideration the hour at
which the girl went abroad. 'It was when the
streets were full of people,' says Le Commerciel,
'that she went out.' But not so. It was nine o'clock
in the morning. Now at nine o'clock of every morn-
ing in the week, with the exception of Sunday, the
streets of the city are, it is true, thronged with people.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 37
At nine on Sunday, the populace are chiefly within
doors preparing for church. No observing person can
have failed to notice the peculiarly deserted air of the
town, from about eight until ten on the morning of
every Sabbath. Between ten and eleven the streets
are thronged, but not at so early a period as that des-
ignated.
"There is another point at which there seems a de-
ficiency of observation on the part of Le Commerciel.
'A piece,' it says, 'of one of the unfortunate girl's
petticoats, two feet long, and one foot wide, was torn
out and tied under her chin, and around the back of
her head, probably to prevent screams. This was
done by fellows who had no pocket-handkerchiefs.'
Whether this idea is, or is not well founded, we will
endeavor to see hereafter; but by 'fellows who have
no pocket-handkerchiefs,' the editor intends the lowest
class of ruffians. These, however, are the very de-
scription of people who will always be found to have
handkerchiefs even when destitute of shirts. You
must have had occasion to observe how absolutely in-
dispensable, of late years, to the thorough blackguard,
has become the pocket-handkerchief."
"And what are we to think," I asked, "of the
article in Le Soleil?"
"That it is a pity its inditer was not born a parrot
— in which case he would have been the most illus-
trious parrot of his race. He has merely repeated the
individual items of the already published opinion; col-
lecting them, with a laudable industry, from this paper
and from that. 'The things had all evidently been
there,' he says, 'at least, three or four weeks, and there
can be no doubt that the spot of this appalling outrage
has been discovered.' The facts here re-stated by Le


38 TALES.
Soldi, are very far indeed from removing my own
doubts upon this subject, and we will examine them
more particularly hereafter in connexion with another
division of the theme.
"At present we must occupy ourselves with other
investigations. You cannot fail to have remarked the
extreme laxity of the examination of the corpse. To
be sure, the question of identity was readily deter-
mined, or should have been; but there were other
points to be ascertained. Had the body been in any
respect despoiled? Had the deceased any articles of
jewelry about her person upon leaving home? if so,
had she any when found? These are important ques-
tions utterly untouched by the evidence; and there are
others of equal moment, which have met with no at-
tention. We must endeavor to satisfy ourselves by
personal inquiry. The case of St. Eustache must be
re-examined. I have no suspicion of this person; but
let us proceed methodically. We will ascertain beyond
a doubt the validity of the affidavits in regard to his
whereabouts on the Sunday. Affidavits of this charac-
ter are readily made matter of mystification. Should
there be nothing wrong here, however, we will dismiss
St. Eustache from our investigations. His suicide,
however corroborative of suspicion, were there found
to be deceit in the affidavits, is, without such deceit,
in no respect an unaccountable circumstance, or one
which need cause us to deflect from the line of ordi-
nary analysis.
"In that which I now propose, we will discard
the interior points of this tragedy, and concentrate our
attention upon its outskirts. Not the least usual error,
in investigations such as this, is the limiting of inquiry
to the immediate, with total disregard of the collateral


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 39
or circumstantial events. It is the mal-practice of the
courts to confine evidence and discussion to the bounds
of apparent relevancy. Yet experience has shown,
and a true philosophy will always show, that a vast,
perhaps the larger portion of truth, arises from the
seemingly irrelevant. It is through the spirit of this
principle, if not precisely through its letter, that
modern science has resolved to calculate upon the un-
foreseen. But perhaps you do not comprehend me. The
history of human knowledge has so uninterruptedly
shown that to collateral, or incidental, or accidental
events we are indebted for the most numerous and
most valuable discoveries, that it has at length become
necessary, in any prospective view of improvement, to
make not only large, but the largest allowances for
inventions that shall arise by chance, and quite out
of the range of ordinary expectation. It is no longer
philosophical to base, upon what has been, a vision of
what is to be. Accident is admitted as a portion of
the substructure. We make chance a matter of abso-
lute calculation. We subject the unlooked for and
unimagined, to the mathematical formulte of the
schools.
"I repeat that it is no more than fact, that the
larger portion of all truth has sprung from the col-
lateral ; and it is but in accordance with the spirit of
the principle involved in this fact, that I would divert
inquiry, in the present case, from the trodden and
hitherto unfruitful ground of the event itself, to the
cotemporary circumstances which surround it. While
you ascertain the validity of the affidavits, I will ex-
amine the newspapers more generally than you have
as yet done. So far, we have only reconnoitred the
field of investigation; but it will be strange indeed if


4-0 TALES.
a comprehensive survey, such as I propose, of the pub-
lic prints, will not afford us some minute points which
shall establish a direction for inquiry."
In pursuance of Dupin's suggestion, I made scrupu-
lous examination of the affair of the affidavits. The
result was a firm conviction of their validity, and of
the consequent innocence of St. Eustache. In the
mean time my friend occupied himself, with what
seemed to me a minuteness altogether objectless, in a
scrutiny of the various newspaper files. At the end
of a week he placed before me the following extracts:
"About three years and a half ago, a disturbance very
similar to the present, was caused by the disappearance of
this same Marie Rog6t, from the parfumerie of Monsieur
Le Blanc, in the Palais Royal. At the end of a week,
however, she re-appcared at her customary eomptoir as well
as ever, with the exception of a slight paleness not alto-
gether usual. It was given out by Monsieur Le Blanc
and her mother, that she had merely been on a visit to
some friend in the country; and the affair was speedily
hushed up. We presume that the present absence is a
freak of the same nature, and that, at the expiration of a
week, or perhaps of a month, we shall have her among
us again."' — Evening Paper — Monday, June 23.'
"An evening journal of yesterday, refers to a former
mysterious disappearance of Mademoiselle Roget. It is
well known that, during the week of her absence from
Le Blanc's parfumerie, she was in the company of a
young naval officer, much noted for his debaucheries. A
quarrel, it is supposed, providentially led to her return
home. We have the name of the Lothario in question,
who is, at present, stationed in Paris, but, for obvious
reasons, forbear to make it public."—Le Mercure —
Tuesday Morning, June 24.*
1"N. Y. Express."
• " N. Y. Herald."


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 41
"An outrage of the most atrocious character was per-
petrated near this city the day before yesterday. A
gentleman, with his wife and daughter, engaged, about
dusk, the services of six young men, who were idly row-
ing a boat to and fro near the banks of the Seine, to con-
vey him across the river. Upon reaching the opposite
shore, the three passengers stepped out, and had pro-
ceeded so far as to be beyond the view of the boat, when
the daughter discovered that she had left in it her parasol.
She returned for it, was seized by the gang, carried out
into the stream, gagged, brutally treated, and finally
taken to the shore at a point not far from that at which
she had originally entered the boat with her parents.
The villains have escaped for the time, but the police are
upon their trail, and some of them will soon be taken."
— Morning Papti June 2.5.1
We have received one or two communications, the
object of which is to fasten the crime of the late atrocity
upon Mennais; * but as this gentleman has been fully ex-
onerated by a legal inquiry, and as the arguments of our
several correspondents appear to be more zealous than
profound, we do not think it advisable to make them
public." —Morning Papei "June 28.'
"We have received several forcibly written commu-
nications, apparently from various sources, and which go
far to render it a matter of certainty that the unfortunate
Marie Rogfit has become a victim of one of the numerous
bands of blackguards which infest the vicinity of the city
upon Sunday. Our own opinion is decidedly in favor of
this supposition. We shall endeavor to make room for
some of these arguments hereafter." — Evening Paper.
— Tuesday, June 31.4
1 " N. Y. Courier and Inquirer."
* Mennais was one of the parties originally suspected and arrested,
but discharged through total lack of evidence.
3 " N. Y. Courier and Inquirer."
4"N. Y. Evening Post."


42 TALES.
"On Monday, one of the bargemen connected with
the revenue service, saw an empty boat floating down the
Seine. Sails were lying in the bottom of the boat. The
bargeman towed it under the barge office. The next
morning it was taken from thence, without the knowledge
of any of the officers. The rudder is now at the barge
office." —La Diligence— Thursday, June z6.>
Upon reading these various extracts, they not only
seemed to me irrelevant, but I could perceive no mode
in which any one of them could be brought to bear
upon the matter in hand. I waited for some explana-
tion from Dupin.
"It is not my present design," he said, " to dwell
upon the first and second of these extracts. I have
copied them chiefly to show you the extreme remiss-
ness of the police, who, as far as I can understand from
the Prefect, have not troubled themselves, in any re-
spect, with an examination of the naval officer alluded
to. Yet it is mere folly to say that between the first
and second disappearance of Marie, there is no supposa-
ble connection. Let us admit the first elopement to
have resulted in a quarrel between the lovers, and the
return home of the betrayed. We are now prepared
to view a second elopement (if we know that an elope-
ment has again taken place) as indicating a renewal of
the betrayer's advances, rather than as the result of
new proposals by a second individual — we are pre-
pared to regard it as a 'making up ' of the old amour,
rather than as the commencement of a new one. The
chances are ten to one, that he who had once eloped
with Marie, would again propose an elopement, rather
than that she to whom proposals of elopement had been
made by one individual, should have them made to her
1 " N. Y. Standard."


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 43
by another. And here let me call your attention to
the fact, that the time elapsing between the first ascer-
tained, and the second supposed elopement, is a few
months more than the general period of the cruises of
our men-of-war. Had the lover been interrupted in
his first villany by the necessity of departure to sea,
and had he seized the first moment of his return to
renew the base designs not yet altogether accomplished
— or not yet altogether accomplished by him? Of all
these things we know nothing.
"You will say, however, that, in the second in-
stance, there was no elopement as imagined. Certainly
not — but are we prepared to say that there was not
the frustrated design? Beyond St. Eustache, and per-
haps Beauvais, we find no recognized, no open, no
honorable suitors of Marie. Of none other is there
any thing said. Who, then, is the secret lover, of
whom the relatives (at least most of them) know noth-
ing, but whom Marie meets upon the morning of Sun-
day, and who is so deeply in her confidence, that she
hesitates not to remain with him until the shades of the
evening descend, amid the solitary groves of the Bar-
riere du Roule? Who is that secret lover, I ask, of
whom, at least, most of the relatives know nothing ? And
what means the singular prophecy of Madame Roget
on the morning of Marie's departure ?— ' I fear that I
shall never see Marie again.'
"But if we cannot imagine Madame Roget privy to
the design of elopement, may we not at least suppose
this design entertained by the girl? Upon quitting
home, she gave it to be understood that she was about
to visit her aunt in the Rue des Dromes, and St. Eus-
tache was requested to call for her at dark. Now, at
first glance, this fact strongly militates against my sug-


44 TALES.
gestion ; — but let us reflect. That she did meet some
companion, and proceed with him across the river,
reaching the Barricre du Roule at so late an hour as
three o'clock in the afternoon, is known. But in con-
senting so to accompany this individual, (Jbr whatever
purpose — to ber mother known or unknown,} she must
have thought of her expressed intention when leaving
home, and of the surprise and suspicion aroused in the
bosom of her affianced suitor, St. Eustache, when,
calling for her, at the hour appointed, in the Rue des
Dromes, he should find that she had not been there,
and when, moreover, upon returning to the pension
with this alarming intelligence, he should become aware
of her continued absence from home. She must have
thought of these things, I say. She must have fore-
seen the chagrin of St. Eustache, the suspicion of all.
She could not have thought of returning to brave this
suspicion; but the suspicion becomes a point of trivial
importance to her, if we suppose her not intending to
return.
"We may imagine her thinking thus — 'I am to
meet a certain person for the purpose of elopement, or
for certain other purposes known only to myself. It
is necessary that there be no chance of interruption —
there must be sufficient time given us to elude pursuit
— I will give it to be understood that I shall visit and
spend the day with my aunt at the Rue des Dromes —
I will tell St. Eustache not to call for me until dark —
in this way, my absence from home for the longest
possible period, without causing suspicion or anxiety,
will be accounted for, and I shall gain more rime
than in any other manner. If I bid St. Eustache call
for me at dark, he will be sure not to call before ; but,
if I wholly neglect to bid him call, my time for escape


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 45
will be diminished, since it will be expected that I
return the earlier, and my absence will the sooner
excite anxiety. Now, if it were my design to return
at all— if I had in contemplation merely a stroll with
the individual in question — it would not be my policy
to bid St. Eustache call; for, calling, he will be sure
to ascertain that I have played him false — a fact of
which I might keep him for ever in ignorance, by
leaving home without notifying him of my intention,
by returning before dark, and by then stating that I
had been to visit my aunt in the Rue des Dromes.
But, as it is my design never to return — or not for
some weeks — or not until certain concealments are
effected — the gaining of time is the only point about
which I need give myself any concern.'
"You have observed, in your notes, that the most
general opinion in relation to this sad affair is, and was
from the first, that the girl had been the victim of a
gang of blackguards. Now, the popular opinion,
under certain conditions, is not to be disregarded. When
arising of itself— when manifesting itself in a strictly
spontaneous manner — we should look upon it as
analogous with that intuition which is the idiosyncrasy
of the individual man of genius. In ninety-nine
cases from the hundred I would abide by its decision.
But it is important that we find no palpable traces of
suggestion. The opinion must be rigorously the
public's own; and the distinction is often exceedingly
difficult to perceive and to maintain. In the present
instance, it appears to me that this 'public opinion,'
in respect to a gang, has been superinduced by the
collateral event which is detailed in the third of my
extracts. All Paris is excited by the discovered
corpse of Marie, a girl young, beautiful and notorious.


46 TALES.
This corpse is found, bearing marks of violence, and
floating in the river. But it is now made known that,
at the very period, or about the very period, in which
it is supposed that the girl was assassinated, an outrage
similar in nature to that endured by the deceased,
although less in extent, was perpetrated, by a gang of
young ruffians, upon the person of a second young,
female. Is it wonderful that the one known atrocity
should influence the popular judgment in regard to the
other unknown? This judgment awaited direction,
and the known outrage seemed so opportunely to afford
it! Marie, too, was found in the river; and upon
this very river was this known outrage committed.
The connexion of the two events had about it so much
of the palpable, that the true wonder would have been
a failure of the populace to appreciate and to seize it.
But, in fact, the one atrocity, known to be so com-
mitted, is, if any thing, evidence that the other,
committed at a time nearly coincident, was not so
committed. It would have been a miracle indeed, if,
while a gang of ruffians were perpetrating, at a given
locality, a most unheard-of wrong, there should have
been another similar gang, in a similar locality, in the
same city, under the same circumstances, with the
same means and appliances, engaged in a wrong of
precisely the same aspect, at precisely the same period
of time! Yet in what, if not in this marvellous
train of coincidence, does the accidentally suggested
opinion of the populace call upon us to believe?
"Before proceeding farther, let us consider the sup-
posed scene of the assassination, in the thicket at the
Barriere du Roule. This thicket, although dense,
was in the close vicinity of a public road. Within
were three or four large stones, forming a kind of seat


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 47
with a back and footstool. On the upper stone was
discovered a white petticoat; on the second, a silk
scarf. A parasol, gloves, and a pocket-handkerchief,
were also here found. The handkerchief bore the
name, 'Marie Roget.' Fragments of dress were
seen on the branches around. The earth was trampled,
the bushes were broken, and there was every evidence
of a violent struggle.
"Notwithstanding the acclamation with which the
discovery of this thicket was received by the press, and
the unanimity with which it was supposed to indicate
the precise scene of the outrage, it must be admitted
that there was some very good reason for doubt. That
it mas the scene, I may or I may not believe — but
there was excellent reason for doubt. Had the true
scene been, as Le Commerciel suggested, in the neigh-
borhood of the Rue Pavee St. Andre, the perpetrators
of the crime, supposing them still resident in Paris,
would naturally have been stricken with terror at the
public attention thus acutely directed into the proper
channel; and, in certain classes of minds, there would
have arisen, at once, a sense of the necessity of some
exertion to redivert this attention. And thus, the
thicket of the Barriere du Roule having been already
suspected, the idea of placing the articles where they
were found, might have been naturally entertained.
There is no real evidence, although Le Soleil so sup-
poses, that the articles discovered had been more than
a very few days in the thicket; while there is much
circumstantial proof that they could not have remained
there, without attracting attention, during the twenty
days elapsing between the fatal Sunday and the after-
noon upon which they were found by the boys.
'They were all mildewed down hard,' says Le Soleil,


48 TALES.
adopting the opinions of its predecessors, 'with the
action of the rain, and stuck together from mildew.
The grass had grown around and over some of them.
The silk of the parasol was strong, but the threads of
it were run together within. The upper part, where
it had been doubled and folded, was all mildewed and
rotten, and tore on being opened.' In respect to the
grass having 'grown around and over some of them,'
it is obvious that the fact could only have been ascer-
tained from the words, and thus from the recollections,
of two small boys; for these boys removed the articles
and took them home before they had been seen by a
third party. But grass will grow, especially in warm
and damp weather, (such as was that of the period of
the murder,) as much as two or three inches in a
single day. A parasol lying upon a newly turfed
ground, might, in a week, be entirely concealed from
sight by the upspringing grass. And touching that
mildew upon which the editor of Le Soleil so pertina-
ciously insists, that he employs the word no less than
three times in the brief paragraph just quoted, is he
really unaware of the nature of this mildew? Is he to
be told that it is one of the many classes offungus, of
which the most ordinary feature is its upspringing and
decadence within twenty-four hours?
''Thus we see, at a glance, that what has been
most triumphantly adduced in support of the idea that
the articles had been 'for at least three or four weeks'
in the thicket, is most absurdly null as regards any
evidence of that fact. On the other hand, it is ex-
ceedingly difficult to believe that these articles could
have remained in the thicket specified, for a longer
period than a single week — for a longer period than
from one Sunday to the next. Those who know any


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 49
thing of the vicinity of Paris, know the extreme diffi-
culty of finding seclusion, unless at a great distance
from its suburbs. Such a thing as an unexplored, or
even an unfrequently visited recess, amid its woods or
groves, is not for a moment to be imagined. Let any
one who, being at heart a lover of nature, is yet
chained by duty to the dust and heat of this great
metropolis — let any such one attempt, even during
the week-days, to slake his thirst for solitude amid the
scenes of natural loveliness which immediately surround
us. At every second step, he will find the growing
charm dispelled by the voice and personal intrusion of
some ruffian or party of carousing blackguards. He
will seek privacy amid the densest foliage, all in vain.
Here are the very nooks where the unwashed most
abound — here are the temples most desecrate. With
sickness of the heart the wanderer will flee back to the
polluted Paris as to a less odious because less incon-
gruous sink of pollution. But if the vicinity of the
city is so beset during the working days of the week,
how much more so on the Sabbath! It is now especi-
ally that, released from the chains of labor, or deprived
of the customary opportunities of crime, the town black-
guard seeks the precincts of the town, not through love
of the rural, which in his heart he despises, but by way
of escape from the restraints and conventionalities of
society. He desires less the fresh air and the green
trees, than the utter license of the country. Here, at
the road-side inn, or beneath the foliage of the woods,
he indulges, unchecked by any eye except those of his
boon companions, in all the mad excess of a counter-
feit hilarity — the joint offspring of liberty and of rum.
I say nothing more than what must be obvious to
every dispassionate observer, when I repeat that the
Vol. V.-*


SO TALES.
circumstance of the articles in question having remained
undiscovered, for a longer period than from one Sunday
to another, in any thicket in the immediate neighbor-
hood of Paris, is to be looked upon as little less than
miraculous.
"But there are not wanting other grounds for the
suspicion that the articles were placed in the thicket
with the view of diverting attention from the real scene
of the outrage. And, first, let me direct your notice
to the date of the discovery of the articles. Collate
this with the date of the fifth extract made by myself
from the newspapers. You will find that the discovery
followed, almost immediately, the urgent communica-
tions sent to the evening paper. These communica-
tions, although various, and apparently from various
sources, tended all to the same point — viz., the di-
recting of attention to a gang as the perpetrators of the
outrage, and to the neighborhood of the Barriere du
Roule as its scene. Now here, of course, the suspi-
cion is not that, in consequence of these communica-
tions, or of the public attention by them directed, the
articles were found by the boys; but the suspicion
might and may well have been, that the articles were
not before found by the boys, for the reason that the
articles had not before been in the thicket; having been
deposited there only at so late a period as at the date,
or shortly prior to the date of the communications, by
the guilty authors of these communications themselves.
"This thicket was a singular — an exceedingly
singular one. It was unusually dense. Within its
naturally walled enclosure were three extraordinary
stones, forming a seat with a bach and footstool. And
this thicket, so full of a natural art, was in the immedi-
ate vicinity, within a few rods, of the dwelling of


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 51
Madame Deluc, whose boys were in the habit of
closely examining the shrubberies about them in search
of the bark of the sassafras. Would it be a rash wager
— a wager of one thousand to one — that a day never
passed over the heads of these boys without finding at
least one of them ensconced in the umbrageous hall,
and enthroned upon its natural throne? Those who
would hesitate at such a wager, have either never been
boys themselves, or have forgotten the boyish nature.
I repeat—it is exceedingly hard to comprehend how
the articles could have remained in this thicket undis-
covered, for a longer period than one or two days;
and that thus there is good ground for suspicion, in
spite of the dogmatic ignorance of Le Soleil, that they
were, at a comparatively late date, deposited where
found.
"But there are still other and stronger reasons for
believing them so deposited, than any which I have as
yet urged. And, now, let me beg your notice to the
highly artificial arrangement of the articles. On the
upper stone lay a white petticoat; on the second a silk
scarf; scattered around, were a parasol, gloves, and a
pocket-handkerchief bearing the name, ' Marie Roget.'
Here is just such an arrangement as would naturally be
made by a not-over-acute person wishing to dispose the
articles naturally. But it is by no means a really natural
arrangement. I should rather have looked to see the
things all lying on the ground and trampled under foot.
In the narrow limits of that bower, it would have been
scarcely possible that the petticoat and scarf should
have retained a position upon the stones, when sub-
jected to the brushing to and fro of many struggling
persons. 'There was evidence,' it is said, 'of a
struggle; and the earth was trampled, the bushes were


52 TALES.
broken,'—but the petticoat and the scarf are found
deposited as if upon shelves. 'The pieces of the
frock torn out by the bushes were about three inches
wide and six inches long. One part was the hem of
the frock and it had been mended. They looked like
strips torn off.' Here, inadvertently, Le Soleil has
employed an exceedingly suspicious phrase. The
pieces, as described, do indeed 'look like strips torn
off; ' but purposely and by hand. It is one of the
rarest of accidents that a piece is 'torn off,' from any
garment such as is now in question, by the agency of a
thorn. From the very nature of such fabrics, a thorn
or nail becoming entangled in them, tears them rec-
tangularly — divides them into two longitudinal rents,
at right angles with each other, and meeting at an
apex where the thorn enters — but it is scarcely possi-
ble to conceive the piece 'torn off.' I never so knew
it, nor did you. To tear a piece off from such fabric,
two distinct forces, in different directions, will be, in
almost every case, required. If there be two edges to
the fabric — if, for example, it be a pocket-handkerchief,
and it is desired to tear from it a slip, then, and then only,
will the one force serve the purpose. But in the present
case the question is of a dress, presenting but one edge.
To tear a piece from the interior, where no edge is pre-
sented, could only be effected by a miracle through the
agency of thorns, and no one thorn could accomplish
it. But, even where an edge is presented, two thorns
will be necessary, operating, the one in two distinct
directions, and the other in one. And this in the
supposition that the edge is unhemmed. If hemmed,
the matter is nearly out of the question. We thus see
the numerous and great obstacles in the way of pieces
being 'torn off' through the simple agency of


THE MYSTERY OP MARIE ROGET. 53
'thorns ;' yet we are required to believe not only
that one piece but that many have been so torn. 'And
one part,' too, 'was the bem of the frock!' Another
piece was 'part of the skirt, not the bent' — that is
to say, was torn completely out, through the agency
of thorns, from the unedged interior of the dress!
These, I say, are things which one may well be par-
doned for disbelieving; yet, taken collectedly, they
form, perhaps, less of reasonable ground for suspicion,
than the one startling circumstance of the articles hav-
ing been left in this thicket at all, by any murderers
who had enough precaution to think of removing the
corpse. You will not have apprehended me rightly,
however, if you suppose it my design to deny this
thicket as the scene of the outrage. There might have
been a wrong here, or, more possibly, an accident at
Madame Deluc's. But, in fact, this is a point of
minor importance. We are not engaged in an attempt
to discover the scene, but to produce the perpetrators
of the murder. What I have adduced, notwithstand-
ing the minuteness with which I have adduced it, has
been with the view, first, to show the folly of the
positive and headlong assertions of Le Soleil, but sec-
ondly and chiefly, to bring you, by the most natural
route, to a further contemplation of the doubt whether
this assassination has, or has not been, the work of a
gang-
"We will resume this question by mere allusion to
the revolting details of the surgeon examined at the in-
quest. It is only necessary to say that his published
inferences, in regard to the number of the ruffians,
have been properly ridiculed as unjust and totally base-
less, by all the reputable anatomists of Paris. Not
that the matter might not have been as inferred, but


54 TALES.
that there was no ground for the inference : — wu
there not much for another?
"Let us reflect now upon 'the traces of a struggle ;'
and let me ask what these traces have been supposed
to demonstrate. A gang. But do they not rather
demonstrate the absence of a gang? What struggle
could have taken place — what struggle so violent and
so enduring as to have left its 'traces' in all direc-
tions— between a weak and defenceless girl and the
gang of ruffians imagined? The silent grasp of a few
rough arms and all would have been over. The vic-
tim must have been absolutely passive at their will. You
will here bear in mind that the arguments urged against
the thicket as the scene, are applicable, in chief part,
only against it as the scene of an outrage committed by
more than a single individual. If we imagine but one
violator, we can conceive, and thus only conceive, the
struggle of so violent and so obstinate a nature as to
have left the 'traces' apparent.
"And again. I have already mentioned the suspi-
cion to be excited by the fact that the articles in ques-
tion were suffered to remain at all in the thicket where
discovered. It seems almost impossible that these evi-
dences of guilt should have been accidentally left where
found. There was sufficient presence of mind (it is
supposed) to remove the corpse; and yet a more posi-
tive evidence than the corpse itself (whose features
might have been quickly obliterated by decay,) is al-
lowed to lie conspicuously in the scene of the outrage
— I allude to the handkerchief with the name of the
deceased. If this was accident, it was not the acci-
dent of a gang. We can imagine it only the accident
of an individual. Let us see. An individual has com-
mitted the murder. He is alone with the ghost of the


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 55
departed. He is appalled by what lies motionless be-
fore him. The fury of his passion is over, and there
is abundant room in his heart for the natural awe of
the deed. His is none of that confidence which the
presence of numbers inevitably inspires. He is alone
with the dead. He trembles and is bewildered. Yet
there is a necessity for disposing of the corpse. He
bears it to the river, but leaves behind him the other
evidences of guilt; for it is difficult, if not impossible
to carry all the burthen at once, and it will be easy to
return for what is left. But in his toilsome journey to
the water his fears redouble within him. The sounds
of life encompass his path. A dozen times he hears or
fancies the step of an observer. Even the very lights
from the city bewilder him. Yet, in time, and by
long and frequent pauses of deep agony, he reaches the
river's brink, and disposes of his ghastly charge — per-
haps through the medium of a boat. But now what
treasure does the world hold — what threat of ven-
geance could it hold out — which would have power
to urge the return of that lonely murderer over that
toilsome and perilous path, to the thicket and its blood-
chilling recollections? He returns not, let the conse-
quences be what they may. He could not return if he
would. His sole thought is immediate escape. He
turns his back forever upon those dreadful shrubberies,
and flees as from the wrath to come.
"But how with a gang? Their number would
have inspired them with confidence; if, indeed, con-
fidence is ever wanting in the breast of the arrant black-
guard; and of arrant blackguards alone are the supposed
gangs ever constituted. Their number, I say, would
have prevented the bewildering and unreasoning terror
which I have imagined to paralyze the single man.


56 TALES.
Could we suppose an oversight in one, or two, or
three, this oversight would have been remedied by a
fourth. They would have left nothing behind them;
for their number would have enabled them to carry all
at once. There would have been no need of return.
"Consider now the circumstances that, in the
outer garment of the corpse when found, 'a slip,
about a foot wide, had been torn upward from the
bottom hem to the waist, wound three times round
the waist, and secured by a sort of hitch in the back.'
This was done with the obvious design of affording a
handle by which to carry the body. But would any
number of men have dreamed of resorting to such an
expedient? To three or four, the limbs of the corpse
would have afforded not only a sufficient, but the best
possible hold. The device is that of a single indi-
vidual; and this brings us to the fact that ' between
the thicket and the river, the rails of the fences were
found taken down, and the ground bore evident traces
of some heavy burden having been dragged along it!'
But would a number of men have put themselves to
the superfluous trouble of taking down a fence, for the
purpose of dragging through it a corpse which they
might have lifted ever any fence in an instant?
Would a number of men have so dragged a corpse at
all as to have left evident traces of the dragging?
"And here we must refer to an observation of Le
Commerciel ; an observation upon which I have al-
ready, in some measure, commented. 'A piece,'
says this journal, 'of one of the unfortunate girl's pet-
ticoats was torn out and tied under her chin, and
around the back of her head, probably to prevent
screams. This was done by fellows who had no
pocket-handkerchiefs.'


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 57
'' I have before suggested that a genuine blackguard
is never without a pocket-handkerchief. But it is not
to this fact that I now especially advert. That it was
not through want of a handkerchief for the purpose
imagined bv Le Commerciel, that this bandage
was employed, is rendered apparent by the handker-
chief left in the thicket; and the object was not 'to
prevent screams ' appears, also, from the bandage hav-
ing been employed in preference to what would so
much better have answered the purpose. But the lan-
guage of the evidence speaks of the strip in question
as 'found around the neck, fitting loosely, and se-
cured with a hard knot.' These words are sufficiently
vague, but differ materially from those of Le Com-
merciel. The slip was eighteen inches wide, and
therefore, although of muslin, would form a strong
band when folded or rumpled longitudinally. And
thus rumpled it was discovered. My inference is
this. The solitary murderer, having borne the corpse,
for some distance, (whether from the thicket or else-
where) by means of the bandage hitched around its
middle, found the weight, in this mode of procedure,
too much for his strength. He resolved to drag the
burthen — the evidence goes to show that it was
dragged. With this object in view, it became neces-
sary to attach something like a rope to one of the ex-
tremities. It could be best attached about the neck,
where the head would prevent its slipping off. And,
now, the murderer bethought him, unquestionably, of
the bandage about the loins. He would have used
this, but for its volution about the corpse, the hitch
which embarrassed it, and the reflection that it had
not been ' torn off' from the garment. It was easier
to tear a new slip from the petticoat. He tore it,


58 TALES.
made it fast about the neck, and so dragged his victim
to the brink of the river. That this 'bandage,' only
attainable with trouble and delay, and but imperfectly
answering its purpose — that this bandage was em-
ployed at all, demonstrates that the necessity for its
employment sprang from circumstances arising at a
period when the handkerchief was no longer attainable
— that is to say, arising, as we have imagined, after
quitting the thicket, (if the thicket it was), and on the
road between the thicket and the river.
"But the evidence, you will say, of Madame De-
luc, (!) points especially to the presence of a gang, in
the vicinity of the thicket, at or about the epoch of the
murder. This I grant. I doubt if there were not a
dozen gangs, such as described by Madame Deluc, in
and about the vicinity of the Barriere du Roule at *r
about the period of this tragedy. But the gang which
has drawn upon itself the pointed animadversion, al-
though the somewhat tardy and very suspicious evi-
dence of Madame Deluc, is the only gang which is
represented by that honest and scrupulous old lady as
having eaten her cakes and swallowed her brandy,
without putting themselves to the trouble of making
her payment. Et hine ilia trte?
"But what is the precise evidence of Madame De-
luc ?' A gang of miscreants made their appearance,
behaved boisterously, ate and drank without making
payment, followed in the route of the young man and
girl, returned to the inn about dusk, and recrossed the
river as if in great haste.'
"Now this 'great haste' very possibly seemed
greater haste in the eyes of Madame Deluc, since she
dwelt lingeringly and lamentingly upon her violated
cakes and ale — cakes and ale for which she might


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 59
still have entertained a faint hope of compensation.
Why, otherwise, since it was about dusk, should she
make a point of the haste? It is no cause for wonder,
surely, that even a gang of blackguards should make
haste to get home, when a wide river is to be crossed
in small boats, when storm impends, and when night
approaches.
"I say approaches; for the night had not yet arrived.
It was only about dusk that the indecent haste of these
'miscreants' offended the sober eyes of Madame De-
luc. But we are told that it was upon this very even-
ing that Madame Deluc, as well as her eldest son,
'heard the screams of a female in the vicinity of the inn.'
And in what words does Madame Deluc designate the
period of the evening at which these screams were
heard ?'It was soon after dark,' she says. But ' soon
after dark,' is, at least, dark; and 'about dusk' is as
certainly daylight. Thus it is abundantly clear that
the gang quitted the Barriere du Roule prior to the
screams overheard (?) by Madame Deluc. And
although, in all the many reports of the evidence, the
relative expressions in question are distinctly and in-
variably employed just as I have employed them in this
conversation with yourself, no notice whatever of the
gross discrepancy has, as yet, been taken by any of the
public journals, or by any of the Myrmidons of
police.
"I shall add but one to the arguments against a
gang; but this one has, to my own understanding at
least, a weight altogether irresistible. Under the cir-
cumstances of large reward offered, and full pardon to
any King's evidence, it is not to be imagined, for a
moment, that some member of a gang of low ruffians,
or of any body of men, would not long ago have be-


60 TALES.
trayed his accomplices. Each one of a gang so placed,
is not so much greedy of reward, or anxious for es-
cape, as fearful of betrayal. He betrays eagerly and
early that be may not himself be betrayed. That the
secret has not been divulged, is the very best of proof
that it is, in fact, a secret. The horrors of this dark
deed are known only to one, or two, living human
beings, and to God.
"Let us sum up now the meagre yet certain fruits
of our long analysis. We have attained the idea
either of a fatal accident under the roof of Madame
Deluc, or of a murder perpetrated, in the thicket at the
Barriere du Roule, by a lover, or at least by an inti-
mate and secret associate of the deceased. This asso-
ciate is of swarthy complexion. This complexion,
the 'hitch' in the bandage, and the 'sailor's knot,'
with which the bonnet-ribbon is tied, point to a seaman.
His companionship with the deceased, a gay, but not
an abject young girl, designates him as above the grade
of the common sailor. Here the well written and
urgent communications to the journals are much in the
way of corroboration. The circumstance of the first
elopement, as mentioned by Le Mercure, tends to
blend the idea of this seaman with that of the 'naval
officer' who is first known to have led the unfortunate
into crime.
"And here, most fitly, comes the consideration of
the continued absence of him of the dark complexion.
Let me pause to observe that the complexion of this
man is dark and swarthy; it was no common swarthi-
ness which constituted the sole point of remembrance,
both as regards Valence and Madame Deluc. But why
is this man absent? Was he murdered by the gang?
If so, why are there only traces of the assassinated


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 61
girl? The scene of the two outrages will naturally
be supposed identical. And where is his corpse? The
assassins would most probably have disposed of both in
the same way. But it may be said that this man lives,
and is deterred from making himself known, through
dread of being charged with the murder. This con-
sideration might be supposed to operate upon him now
— at this late period — since it has been given in evi-
dence that he was seen with Marie — but it would
have had no force at the period of the deed. The
first impulse of an innocent man would have been to
announce the outrage, and to aid in identifying the
ruffians. This, policy would have suggested. He
had been seen with the girl. He had crossed the
river with her in an open ferry-boat. The denounc-
ing of the assassins would have appeared, even to an
idiot, the surest and sole means of relieving himself
from suspicion. We cannot suppose him, on the
night of the fatal Sunday, both innocent himself and
incognizant of an outrage committed. Yet only under
such circumstances is it possible to imagine that he
would have failed, if alive, in the denouncement of
the assassins.
"And what means are ours, of attaining the truth?
We shall find these means multiplying and gathering
distinctness as we proceed. Let us sift to the bottom
this affair of the first elopement. Let us know the
full history of 'the officer,' with his present circum-
stances, and his whereabouts at the precise period of
the murder. Let us carefully compare with each
other the various communications sent to the evening
paper, in which the object was to inculpate a gang.
This done, let us compare these communications, both
as regards style and MS., with those sent to the


62 TALES.
morning paper, at a previous period, and insisting so
vehemently upon the guilt of Mennais. And, all this
done, let us again compare these various communica-
tions with the known MSS. of the officer. Let us
endeavor to ascertain, by repeated questionings of
Madame Deluc and her boys, as well as of the omni-
bus-driver, Valence, something more of the personal
appearance and bearing of the 'man of dark com-
plexion.' Queries, skilfully directed, will not fail to
elicit, from some of these parties, information on this
particular point (or upon others) —information which
the parties themselves may not even be aware of
possessing. And let us now trace the boat picked up
by the barge-man on the morning of Monday the
twenty-third of June, and which was removed from
the barge-office, without the cognizance of the officer
in attendance, and without the rudder, at some period
prior to the discovery of the corpse. With a proper
caution and perseverance we shall infallibly trace this
boat; for not only can the bargeman who picked it up
identify it, but the rudder is at hand. The rudder sf
a sail-boat would not have been abandoned, without
inquiry, by one altogether at ease in heart. And here
let me pause to insinuate a question. There was no
advertisement of the picking up of this boat. It was
silently taken to the barge-office, and as silently re-
moved. But its owner or employer — how happened
he, at so early a period as Tuesday morning, to be
informed, without the agency of advertisement, of the
locality of the boat taken up on Monday, unless we
imagine some connexion with the navy — some personal
permanent connexion leading to cognizance of its
minute interests — its petty local news?
"In speaking of the lonely assassin dragging his


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 63
burden to the shore, I have already suggested the
probability of his availing himself of a boat. Now we
are to understand that Marie Roget was precipitated
from a boat. This would naturally have been the
case. The corpse could not have been trusted to the
shallow waters of the shore. The peculiar marks on
the back and shoulders of the victim tell of the bottom
ribs of a boat. That the body was found without
weight is also corroborative of the idea. If thrown
from the shore a weight would have been attached.
We can only account for its absence by supposing the
murderer to have neglected the precaution of supplying
himself with it before pushing off. In the act of
consigning the corpse to the water, he would unques-
tionably have noticed his oversight; but then no
remedy would have been at hand. Any risk would
have been preferred to a return to that accursed shore.
Having rid himself of his ghastly charge, the murderer
would have hastened to the city. There, at some
obscure wharf, he would have leaped on land. But
the boat—would he have secured it? He would
have been in too great haste for such things as securing
a boat. Moreover, in fastening it to the wharf, he
would have felt as if securing evidence against himself.
His natural thought would have been to cast from him,
as far as possible, all that had held connection with
his crime. He would not only have fled from the
wharf, but he would not have permitted the boat to
remain. Assuredly he would have cast it adrift. Let
us pursue our fancies. — In the morning, the wretch
is stricken with unutterable horror at finding that the
boat has been picked up and detained at a locality
which he is in the daily habit of frequenting — at a
locality, perhaps, which his duty compels him to


64 TALES.
frequent. The next night, without daring to ask fir
the rudder, he removes it. Now where is that rudderless
boat? Let it be one of our first purposes to discover.
With the first glimpse we obtain of it, the dawn of
our success shall begin. This boat shall guide us,
with a rapidity which will surprise even ourselves, to
him who employed it in the midnight of the fatal
Sabbath. Corroboration will rise upon corroboration,
and the murderer will be traced."
[For reasons which we shall not specify, but which
to many readers will appear obvious, we have taken
the liberty of here omitting, from the MSS. placed in
our hands, such portion as details the following up of
the apparently slight clew obtained by Dupin. We
feel it advisable only to state, in brief, that the result
desired was brought to pass; and that the Prefect ful-
filled punctually, although with reluctance, the terms
of his compact with the Chevalier. Mr. Poe's article
concludes with the following words.—Eds. H
It will be understood that I speak of coincidences
and no more. What I have said above upon this topic
must suffice. In my own heart there dwells no faith
in prater-nature. That Nature and its God are two,
no man who thinks, will deny. That the latter,
creating the former, can, at will, control or modify it, is
also unquestionable. I say "at will;" for the question
is of will, and not, as the insanity of logic has assumed,
of power. It is not that the Deity cannot modify his
laws, but that we insult him in imagining a possible
necessity for modification. In their origin these laws
were fashioned to embrace all contingencies which
could lie in the Future. With God all is Now.
I repeat, then, that I speak of these things only as
1 Of the Magazine in which the article was originally published.


THE MYSTERY OF MARIE ROGET. 65
of coincidences. And farther: in what I relate it will
be seen that between the fate of the unhappy Mary
Cecilia Rogers, so far as that fate is known, and the
fate of one Marie Roget up to a certain epoch in her
history, there has existed a parallel in the contempla-
tion of whose wonderful exactitude the reason becomes
embarrassed. I say all this will be seen. But let it
not for a moment be supposed that, in proceeding with
the sad narrative of Marie from the epoch just men-
tioned, and in tracing to its denouement the mystery
which enshrouded her, it is my covert design to hint
at an extension of the parallel, or even to suggest that
the measures adopted in Paris for the discovery of the
assassin of a grisette, or measures founded in any similar
ratiocination, would produce any similar result.
For, in respect to the latter branch of the supposition,
it should be considered that the most trifling variation
in the facts of the two cases might give rise to the
most important miscalculations, by diverting thoroughly
the two courses of events; very much as, in arith-
metic, an error which, in its own individuality, may
be inappreciable, produces, at length, by dint of multi-
plication at all points of the process, a result enormously
at variance with truth. And, in regard to the former
branch, we must not fail to hold in view that the very
Calculus of Probabilities to which I have referred,
forbids all idea of the extension of the parallel : —
forbids it with a positiveness strong and decided just in
proportion as this parallel has already been long-drawn
and exact. This is one of those anomalous propositions
which, seemingly appealing to thought altogether apart
from the mathematical, is yet one which only the
mathematician can fully entertain. Nothing, for ex-
ample, is more difficult than to convince the merely
Vol. V. - 5


66 TALES.
general reader that the fact of sixes having been thrown
twice in succession by a player at dice, is sufficient
cause for betting the largest odds that sixes will not be
thrown in the third attempt. A suggestion to this effect is
usually rejected by the intellect at once. It does not ap-
pear that the two throws which have been completed, and
which lie now absolutely in the Past, can have influence
upon the throw which exists only in the Future. The
chance for throwing sixes seems to be precisely as it was
at any ordinary time — that is to say, subject only to
the influence of the various other throws which may be
made by the dice. And this is a reflection which ap-
pears so exceedingly obvious that attempts to controvert
it are received more frequently with a derisive smile
than with anything like respectful attention. The
error here involved — a gross error redolent of mischief
— I cannot pretend to expose within the limits assigned
me at present; and with the philosophical it needs no
exposure. It may be sufficient here to say that it forms
one of an infinite series of mistakes which arise in the
path of Reason through her propensity for seeking
truth in detail.


THE
PIT AND THE PENDULUM.
Impia tortorum longos hie turba furores
Sanguinis innocui, non satiata, aluit.
Sospite nunc patria, fracto nunc funeris antra,
Mors ubi dira fuit vita salustjuc patent.
[QUATRA1N COMPOSED FOR THE GATES or A MARKET TO BE
ERECTED UPON THE S1TE OF THE JACOB1N CLUB HOUSE AT
PAR1S.]
[The Gift, 1843; Broadway Journal, 1.20.]
I was sick — sick unto death with that long agony;
and when they at length unbound me, and I was per-
mitted to sit, I felt that my senses were leaving me.
The sentence — the dread sentence of death — was
the last of distinct accentuation which reached my ears.
After that, the sound of the inquisitorial voices seemed
merged in one dreamy indeterminate hum. It con-
veyed to my soul the idea of revolution — perhaps
from its association in fancy with the burr of a mill-
wheel. This only for a brief period; for presently I
heard no more. Yet, for a while, I saw; but with
how terrible an exaggeration! I saw the lips of the
black-robed judges. They appeared to me white —
whiter than the sheet upon which I trace these words
— and thin even to grotesqueness; thin with the in-
(67)


68 TALES.
tensity of their expression of firmness — of immove-
able resolution — of stern contempt of human torture.
I saw that the decrees of what to me was Fate, were
still issuing from those lips. I saw them writhe with
a deadly locution. I saw them fashion the syllables
of my name; and I shuddered because no sound suc-
ceeded. I saw, too, for a few moments of delirious
horror, the soft and nearly imperceptible waving of
the sable draperies which enwrapped the walls of the
apartment. And then my vision fell upon the seven
tall candles upon the table. At first they wore the
aspect of charity, and seemed white slender angels who
would save me; but then, all at once, there came a
most deadly nausea over my spirit, and I felt every
fibre in my frame thrill as if I had touched the wire
of a galvanic battery, while the angel forms became
meaningless spectres, with heads of flame, and I saw
that from them there would be no help. And then
there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, the
thought of what sweet rest there must be in the grave.
The thought came gently and stealthily, and it seemed
long before it attained full appreciation; but just as
my spirit came at length properly to feel and entertain
it, the figures of the judges vanished, as if magically,
from before me; the tall candles sank into nothingness;
their flames went out utterly; the blackness of dark-
ness supervened; all sensations appeared swallowed up
in a mad rushing descent as of the soul into Hades.
Then silence, and stillness, and night were the uni-
verse.
I had swooned; but still will not say that all of
consciousness was lost. What of it there remained I
will not attempt to define, or even to describe; yet all
was not lost. In the deepest slumber — no! In


The Pit and THt Pindi'lim
Drawn by Feraf.











THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 69
delirium — no! In a swoon — no! In death —
no ! even in the grave all is not lost. Else there is
no immortality for man. Arousing from the most
profound of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of
some dream. Yet in a second afterward, (so frail may
that web have been) we remember not that we have
dreamed. In the return to life from the swoon there
are two stages; first, that of the sense of mental or
spiritual; secondly, that of the sense of physical, ex-
istence. It seems probable that if, upon reaching the
second stage, we could recall the impressions of the
first, we should find these impressions eloquent in
memories of the gulf beyond. And that gulf is —
what? How at least shall we distinguish its shadows
from those of the tomb? But if the impressions of
what I have termed the first stage, are not, at will,
recalled, yet, after long interval, do they not come
unbidden, while we marvel whence they come? He
who has never1 swooned, is not he who finds strange
palaces and wildly familiar faces in coals that glow; is
not he who beholds floating in mid-air the sad visions
that the many may not view; is not he who ponders
over the perfume of some novel flower — is not he
whose brain grows bewildered with the meaning of
some musical cadence which has never before arrested
his attention.
Amid frequent and thoughtful endeavors to remem-
ber; amid earnest struggles to regather some token of
the state of seeming nothingness into which my soul
had lapsed, there have been moments when I have
dreamed of success; there have been brief, very brief
periods when I have conjured up remembrances which
the lucid reason of a later epoch assures me could have
had reference only to that condition of seeming uncon-
1 The word "never'' is omitted in the "Broadway Journal"
but appears in "The Gift" and "Griswold" versions. -—Ed.


70 TALES.
sciousness. These shadows of memory tell, indis-
tinctly, of tall figures that lifted and bore me in
silence down — down—still down — till a hideous
dizziness oppressed me at the mere idea of the inter-
minableness of the descent. They tell also of a vague
horror at my heart, on account of that heart's unnatural
stillness. Then comes a sense of sudden motionless-
ness throughout all things; as if those who bore me
(a ghastly train !) had outrun, in their descent, the
limits of the limitless, and paused from the wearisome-
ness of their toil. After this I call to mind flatness
and dampness ; and then all is madness — the madness
of a memory which busies itself among forbidden
things.
Very suddenly there came back to my soul motion
and sound — the tumultuous motion of the heart, and,
in my ears, the sound of its beating. Then a pause
in which all is blank. Then again sound, and motion,
and touch — a tingling sensation pervading my frame.
Then the mere consciousness of existence, without
thought — a condition which lasted long. Then, very
suddenly, thought, and shuddering terror, and earnest
endeavor to comprehend my true state. Then a strong
desire to lapse into insensibility. Then a rushing re-
vival of soul and a successful effort to move. And
now a full memory of the trial, of the judges, of the
sable draperies, of the sentence, of the sickness, of the
swoon. Then entire forgetfulness of all that followed;
of all that a later day and much earnestness of endeavor
have enabled me vaguely to recall.
So far, I had not opened my eyes. I felt that I
lay upon my back, unbound. I reached out my hand,
and it fell heavily upon something damp and hard.
There I suffered it to remain for many minutes, while


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 71
I strove to imagine where and what I could be. I
longed, yet dared not to employ my vision. I dreaded
the first glance at objects around me. It was not that
I feared to look upon things horrible, but that I grew
aghast lest there should be nothing to see. At length,
with a wild desperation at heart, I quickly unclosed
my eyes. My worst thoughts, then, were confirmed.
The blackness of eternal night encompassed me. I
struggled for breath. The intensity of the darkness
seemed to oppress and stifle me. The atmosphere
was intolerably close. I still lay quietly, and made
effort to exercise my reason. I brought to mind the
inquisitorial proceedings, and attempted from that point
to deduce my real condition. The sentence had
passed; and it appeared to me that a very long inter-
val of rime had since elapsed. Yet not for a moment
did I suppose myself actually dead. Such a supposi-
tion, notwithstanding what we read in fiction, is alto-
gether inconsistent with real existence ; — but where
and in what state was 1? The condemned to death,
I knew, perished usually at the autos-da-fe, and one of
these had been held on the very night of the day of
my trial. Had I been remanded to my dungeon, to
await the next sacrifice, which would not take place for
many months? This I at once saw could not be. Victims
had been in immediate demand. Moreover, my dun-
geon, as well as all the condemned cells at Toledo, had
stone floors, and light was not altogether excluded.
A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in tor-
rents upon my heart, and for a brief period, I once
more relapsed into insensibility. Upon recovering, I
at once started to my feet, trembling convulsively in
every fibre. I thrust my arms wildly above and
around me in all directions. I felt nothing; yet


72 TALES.
dreaded to move a step, lest I should be impeded by
the walls of a tomb. Perspiration burst from every
pore, and stood in cold big beads upon my forehead.
The agony of suspense grew at length intolerable, and
I cautiously moved forward, with my arms extended,
and my eyes straining from their sockets, in the hope of
catching some faint ray of light. I proceeded for
many paces; but still all was blackness and vacancy.
I breathed more freely. It seemed evident that mine
was not, at least, the most hideous of fates.
And now, as I still continued to step cautiously on-
ward, there came thronging upon my recollection a
thousand vague rumors of the horrors of Toledo. Of
the dungeons there had been strange things narrated —
fables I had always deemed them —but yet strange,
and too ghastly to repeat, save in a whisper. Was I
left to perish of starvation in this subterranean world
of darkness; or what fate, perhaps even more fearful,
awaited me? That the result would be death, and a
death of more than customary bitterness, I knew too
well the character of my judges to doubt. The mode
and the hour were all that occupied or distracted me.
My outstretched hands at length encountered some
solid obstruction. It was a wall, seemingly of stone
masonry — very smooth, slimy, and cold. I followed
it up; stepping with all the careful distrust with which
certain antique narratives had inspired me. This
process, however, afforded me no means of ascertain-
ing the dimensions of my dungeon; as I might make
its circuit, and return to the point whence I set out,
without being aware of the fact; so perfectly uniform
seemed the wall. I therefore sought the knife which
had been in my pocket, when led into the inquisitorial
chamber; but it was gone; my clothes had been ex-


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 73
changed for a wrapper of coarse serge. I had thought
of forcing the blade in some minute crevice of the
masonry, so as to identify my point of departure.
The difficulty, nevertheless, was but trivial; although,
in the disorder of my fancy, it seemed at first insupera-
ble. I tore a part of the hem from the robe and
placed the fragment at full length, and at right angles
to the wall. In groping my way around the prison, I
could not fail to encounter this rag upon completing
the circuit. So, at least I thought: but I had not
counted upon the extent of the dungeon, or upon my
own weakness. The ground was moist and slippery.
I staggered onward for some time, when I stumbled
and fell. My excessive fatigue induced me to remain
prostrate; and sleep soon overtook me as I lay.
Upon awaking, and stretching forth an arm, I found
beside me a loaf and a pitcher with water. I was too
much exhausted to reflect upon this circumstance, but
ate and drank with avidity. Shortly afterward, I
resumed my tour around the prison, and with much
toil, came at last upon the fragment of the serge. Up.
to the period when I fell I had counted fifty-two paces,
and upon resuming my walk, I had counted forty-eight
more ; — when I arrived at the rag. There were in
all, then, a hundred paces; and, admitting two paces
to the yard, I presumed the dungeon to be fifty yards
in circuit. I had met, however, with many angles in
the wall, and thus I could form no guess at the shape
of the vault; for vault I could not help supposing
it to be.
I had little object — certainly no hope — in these
researches ; but a vague curiosity prompted me to con-
tinue them. Quitting the wall, I resolved to cross the
area of the enclosure. At first I proceeded with ex-


74 TALES.
treme caution, for the floor, although seemingly of
solid material, was treacherous with slime. At length,
however, I took courage, and did not hesitate to step
firmly; endeavoring to cross in as direct a line as
possible. I had advanced some ten or twelve paces
in this manner, when the remnant of the torn hem of
my robe became entangled between my legs. I stepped
on it, and fell violently on my face.
In the confusion attending my fall, I did not im-
mediately apprehend a somewhat startling circum-
stance, which yet, in a few seconds afterward, and
while I still lay prostrate, arrested my attention. It
was this — my chin rested upon the floor of the
prison, but my lips and the upper portion of my head,
although seemingly at a less elevation than the chin,
touched nothing. At the same time my forehead
seemed bathed in a clammy vapor, and the peculiar
smell of decayed fungus arose to my nostrils. I put
forward my arm, and shuddered to find that I had
fallen at the very brink of a circular pit, whose extent,
of course, I had no means of ascertaining at the
moment. Groping'about the masonry just below the
margin, I succeeded in dislodging a small fragment,
and let it fall into the abyss. For many seconds I
hearkened to its reverberations as it dashed against the
sides of the chasm in its descent; at length there was
a sullen plunge into water, succeeded by loud echoes.
At the same moment there came a sound resembling
the quick opening, and as rapid closing of a door over-
head, while a faint gleam of light flashed suddenly
through the gloom, and as suddenly faded away.
I saw clearly the doom which had been prepared
for me, and congratulated myself upon the timely acci-
dent by which I had escaped. Another step before my


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 75
fall, and the world had seen me no more. And the
death just avoided, was of that very character which I
had regarded as fabulous and frivolous in the tales
respecting the Inquisition. To the victims of its
tyranny, there was the choice of death with its
direst physical agonies, or death with its most hideous
moral horrors. I had been reserved for the latter.
By long suffering my nerves had been unstrung, until
I trembled at the sound of my own voice, and had
become in every respect a fitting subject for the species
of torture which awaited me.
Shaking in every limb, I groped my way back to
the wall ; resolving there to perish rather than risk the
terrors of the wells, of which my imagination now
pictured many in various positions about the dungeon.
In other conditions of mind I might have had courage
to end my misery at once by a plunge into one of
these abysses; but now I was the veriest of cowards.
Neither could I forget what I had read of these pits
— that the sudden extinction of life formed no part of
their most horrible plan.
Agitation of spirit kept me awake for many long
hours ; but at length I again slumbered. Upon arous-
ing, I found by my side, as before, a loaf and a
pitcher of water. A burning thirst consumed me,
and I emptied the vessel at a draught. It must have
been drugged ; for scarcely had I drunk, before I be-
came irresistibly drowsy. A deep sleep fell upon me
— a sleep like that of death. How long it lasted of
course, I know not; but when, once again, I unclosed
my eyes, the objects around me were visible. By a
wild sulphurous lustre, the origin of which I could not
at first determine, I was enabled to see the extent and
aspect of the prison.


76 TALES.
In its size I had been greatly mistaken. The whole
circuit of its walls did not exceed twenty-five yards.
For some minutes this fact occasioned me a world of
vain trouble ; vain indeed! for what could be of less
importance, under the terrible circumstances which
environed me, than the mere dimensions of my dun-
geon? But my soul took a wild interest in trifles, and
I busied myself in endeavors to account for the error I
had committed in my measurement. The truth at
length flashed upon me. In my first attempt at explora-
tion I had counted fifty-two paces, up to the period
when I fell ; I must then have been within a pace or two
of the fragment of serge; in fact, I had nearly per-
formed the circuit of the vault. I then slept, and
upon awaking, I must have returned upon my steps —
thus supposing the circuit nearly double what it
actually was. My confusion of mind prevented me
from observing that I began my tour with the wall to
the left, and ended it with the wall to the right.
I had been deceived, too, in respect to the shape of
the enclosure. In feeling my way I had found many
angles, and thus deduced an idea of great irregularity;
so potent is the effect of total darkness upon one arous-
ing from lethargy or sleep! The angles were simply
those of a few slight depressions, or niches, at odd in-
tervals. The general shape of the prison was square.
What I had taken for masonry seemed now to be iron,
or some other metal, in huge plates, whose sutures or
joints occasioned the depression. The entire surface
of this metallic enclosure was rudely daubed in all the
hideous and repulsive devices to which the charnel
superstition of the monks has given rise. The figures
of fiends in aspects of menace, with skeleton forms, and
other more really fearful images, overspread and dis-


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 77
figured the walls. I observed that the outlines of these
monstrosities were sufficiently distinct, but that the
colors seemed faded and blurred, as if from the effects
of a damp atmosphere. I now noticed the floor, too,
which was of stone. In the centre yawned the circular
pit from whose jaws I had escaped; but it was the
only one in the dungeon.
AH this I saw indistinctly and by much effort: for
my personal condition had been greatly changed during
slumber. I now lay upon my back, and at full length,
on a species of low framework of wood. To this I
was securely bound by a long strap resembling a sur-
cingle. It passed in many convolutions about my
limbs and body, leaving at liberty only my head, and
my left arm to such extent that I could, by dint of
much exertion, supply myself with food from an earth-
en dish which lay by my side on the floor. I saw,
to my horror, that the pitcher had been removed. I
say to my horror; for I was consumed with intolerable
thirst. This thirst it appeared to be the design of my
persecutors to stimulate: for the food in the dish was
meat pungently seasoned.
Looking upward, I surveyed the ceiling of my
prison. It was some thirty or forty feet overhead, and
constructed much as the side walls. In one of its
panels a very singular figure riveted my whole atten-
tion. It was the painted figure of Time as he is com-
monly represented, save that, in lieu of a scythe, he
held what, at a casual glance, I supposed to be the
pictured image of a huge pendulum such as we see on
antique clocks. There was something, however, in
the appearance of this machine which caused me to re-
gard it more attentively. While I gazed directly up-
ward at it (for its position was immediately over my


78 TALES.
own) I fancied that I saw it in motion. In an instant
afterward the fancy was confirmed. Its sweep was
brief, and of course slow. I watched it for some min-
utes, somewhat in fear, but more in wonder. Wearied
at length with observing its dull movement, I turned
my eyes upon the other objects in the cell.
A slight noise attracted my notice, and, looking to
the floor, I saw several enormous rats traversing it.
They had issued from the well, which lay just within
view to my right. Even then, while I gazed, they
came up in troops, hurriedly, with ravenous eyes, al-
lured by the scent of the meat. From this it required
much effort and attention to scare them away.
It might have been half an hour, perhaps even an
hour, (for I could take but imperfect note of time) be-
fore I again cast my eyes upward. What I then saw
confounded and amazed me. The sweep of the pen-
dulum had increased in extent by nearly a yard. As
a natural consequence, its velocity was also much
greater. But what mainly disturbed me was the idea
that it had perceptibly descended. I now observed —
with what horror it is needless to say — that its nether
extremity was formed of a crescent of glittering steel,
about a foot in length from horn to horn; the horns
upward, and the under edge evidently as keen as that
of a razor. Like a razor also, it seemed massy and
heavy, tapering from the edge into a solid and broad
structure above. It was appended to a weighty rod
of brass, and the whole hissed as it swung through the
air.
I could no longer doubt the doom prepared for me
by monkish ingenuity in torture. My cognizance of
the pit had become known to the inquisitorial agents —
the pit whose horrors had been destined for so bold a
,


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 79
recusant as myself—the pit, typical of hell, and re-
garded by rumor as the Ultima Thule of all their
punishments. The plunge into this pit I had avoided
by the merest of accidents, and I knew that surprise,
or entrapment into torment, formed an important por-
tion of all the grotesquerie of these dungeon deaths.
Having failed to fall, it was no part of the demon plan
to hurl me into the abyss; and thus (there being no
alternative) a different and a milder destruction awaited
me. Milder! I half smiled in my agony as I thought
of such application of such a term.
What boots it to tell of the long, long hours of hor-
ror more than mortal, during which I counted the
rushing vibrations of the steel! Inch by inch — line
by line — with a descent only appreciable at intervals
that seemed ages — down and still down it came!
Days passed — it might have been that many days
passed — ere it swept so closely over me as to fan me
with its acrid breath. The odor of the sharp steel
forced itself into my nostrils. I prayed — I wearied
heaven with my prayer for its more speedy descent. I
grew frantically mad, and struggled to force myself up-
ward against the sweep of the fearful scimitar. And
then I fell suddenly calm, and lay smiling at the glit-
tering death, as a child at some rare bauble.
There was another interval of utter insensibility ; it
was brief; for, upon again lapsing into lile there had
been no perceptible descent in the pendulum. But it
might have been long; for I knew there were demons
who took note of my swoon, and who could have
arrested the vibration at pleasure. Upon my recovery,
too, I felt very — oh, inexpressibly sick and weak, as
if through long inanition. Even amid the agonies of
that period, the human nature craved food. With


80 TALES.
painful effort I outstretched my left arm as far as my
bonds permitted, and took possession of the small
remnant which had been spared me by the rats. As I
put a portion of it within my lips, there rushed to my
mind a half formed thought of joy — of hope. Yet
what business had / with hope? It was, as I say, a
half formed thought -—- man has many such which are
never completed. I felt that it was of joy — of hope;
but I felt also that it had perished in its formation. In
vain I struggled to perfect — to regain it. Long suf-
fering had nearly annihilated all my ordinary powers of
mind. I was an imbecile — an idiot.
The vibration of the pendulum was at right angles
to my length. I saw that the crescent was designed
to cross the region of the heart. It would fray the
serge of my robe—it would return and repeat its
operations — again — and again. Notwithstanding its
terrifically wide sweep (some thirty feet or more) and
the hissing vigor of its descent, sufficient to sunder
these very walls of iron, still the fraying of my robe
would be all that, for several minutes, it would accom-
plish. And at this thought I paused. I dared not go
farther than this reflection. I dwelt upon it with a
pertinacity of attention — as if, in so dwelling, I could
arrest here the descent of the steel. I forced myself to
ponder upon the sound of the crescent as it should pass
across the garment — upon the peculiar thrilling sensa-
tion which the friction of cloth produces on the nerves.
I pondered upon all this frivolity until my teeth were
on edge.
Down — steadily down it crept. I took a frenzied
pleasure in contrasting its downward with its lateral
velocity. To the right — to the left — far and wide
— with the shriek of a damned spirit; to my heart


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 81
with the stealthy pace of the tiger! I alternately
laughed and howled as the one or the other idea grew
predominant.
Down—certainly, relentlessly down! It vibrated
within three inches of my bosom! I struggled vio-
lently, furiously, to free my left arm. This was free
only from the elbow to the hand. I could reach the
latter, from the platter beside me, to my mouth, with
great effort, but no farther. Could I have broken the
fastenings above the elbow, I would have seized and
attempted to arrest the pendulum. I might as well
have attempted to arrest an avalanche!
Down — still unceasingly — still inevitably down ! I
gasped and struggled at each vibration. I shrunk con-
vulsively at its every sweep. My eyes followed its
outward or upward whirls with the eagerness of the
most unmeaning despair; they closed themselves spas-
modically at the descent, although death would have
been a relief, oh ! how unspeakable! Still I quivered
in every nerve to think how slight a sinking of the
machinery would precipitate that keen, glistening axe
upon my bosom. It was hope that prompted the
nerve to quiver — the frame to shrink. It was hope
— the hope that triumphs on the rack — that whis-
pers to the death-condemned even in the dungeons of
the Inquisition.
I saw that some ten or twelve vibrations would
bring the steel in actual contact with my robe, and
with this observation there suddenly came over my
spirit all the keen, collected calmness of despair. For
the first time during many hours — or perhaps days —
I thought. It now occurred to me that the bandage,
or surcingle, which enveloped me, was unique. I was
tied by no separate cord. The first stroke of the razor-
Vol. V. — 6


82 TALES.
like crescent athwart any portion of the band, would so
detach it that it might be unwound from my person by
means of my left hand. But how fearful, in that case,
the proximity of the steel! The result of the slightest
struggle how deadly! Was it likely, moreover, that
the minions of the torturer had not foreseen and pro-
vided for this possibility! Was it probable that the
bandage crossed my bosom in the track of the pendu-
lum? Dreading to find my faint, and, as it seemed,
my last hope frustrated, I so far elevated my head as
to obtain a distinct view of my breast. The surcingle
enveloped my limbs and body close in all directions —
save in the path of the destroying crescent.
Scarcely had I dropped my head back into its origi-
nal position, when there flashed upon my mind what I
cannot better describe than as the unformed half of
that idea of deliverance to which I have previously
alluded, and of which a moiety only floated indetermi-
nately through my brain when I raised food to my
burning lips. The whole thought was now present —
feeble, scarcely sane, scarcely definite, — but still entire.
I proceeded at once, with the nervous energy of despair,
to attempt its execution.
For many hours the immediate vicinity of the low
framework upon which I lay, had been literally swarm-
ing with rats. They were wild, bold, ravenous;
their red eyes glaring upon me as if they waited but
for motionlessness on my part to make me their prey.
"To what food," I thought, "have they been accus-
tomed in the well ?''
They had devoured, in spite of all my efforts to
prevent them, all but a small remnant of the contents
of the dish. I had fallen into an habitual see-saw, or
wave of the hand about the platter: and, at length,


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 83
the unconscious uniformity of the movement deprived
it of effect. In their voracity the vermin frequently
fastened their sharp fangs in my fingers. With the
particles of the oily and spicy viand which now re-
mained, I thoroughly rubbed the bandage wherever I
could reach it; then,- raising my hand from the floor,
I lay breathlessly still.
At first the ravenous animals were startled and ter-
rified at the change — at the cessation of movement.
They shrank alarmedly back; many sought the well.
But this was only for a moment. I had not counted
in vain upon their voracity. Observing that I re-
mained without motion, one or two of the boldest
leaped upon the frame-work, and smelt at the sur-
cingle. This seemed the signal for a general rush.
Forth from the well they hurried in fresh troops.
They clung to the wood — they overran it, and leaped
in hundreds upon my person. The measured move-
ment of the pendulum disturbed them not at all.
Avoiding its strokes they busied themselves with the
anointed bandage. They pressed — they swarmed
upon me in ever accumulating heaps. They writhed
upon my throat; their cold lips sought my own; I was
half stifled by their thronging pressure; disgust, for
which the world has no name, swelled my bosom, and
chilled, with a heavy clamminess, my heart. Yet one
minute, and I felt that the struggle would be over.
Plainly I perceived the loosening of the bandage. I
knew that in more than one place it must be already
severed. With a more than human resolution I lay
still.
Nor had I erred in my calculations — nor had I en-
dured in vain. I at length felt that I was free. The
surcingle hung in ribands from my body. But the


84 TALES.
stroke of the pendulum already pressed upon my
bosom. It had divided the serge of the robe. It had
cut through the linen beneath. Twice again it swung,
and a sharp sense of pain shot through every nerve.
But the moment of escape had arrived. At a wave of
my hand my deliverers hurried tumultuously away.
With a steady movement — cautious, sidelong, shrink-
ing, and slow — I slid from the embrace of the banp-
age and beyond the reach of the scimitar. For the
moment, at least, I was free.
Free !— and in the grasp of the Inquisition! I had
scarcely stepped from my wooden bed of horror upon
the stone floor of the prison, when the motion of the
hellish machine ceased and I beheld it drawn up, by
some invisible force, through the ceiling. This was a
lesson which I took desperately to heart. My every
motion was undoubtedly watched. Free ! — I had
but escaped death in one form of agony, to be deliv-
ered unto worse than death in some other. With that
thought I rolled my eyes nervously around on the bar-
riers of iron that hemmed me in. Something unusual
— some change which, at first, I could not appreciate
distinctly — it was obvious, had taken place in the
apartment. For many minutes of a dreamy and
trembling abstraction, I busied myself in vain, uncon-
nected conjecture. During this period, I became
aware, for the first time, of the origin of the sulphurous
light which illumined the cell. It proceeded from a
fissure, about half an inch in width, extending en-
tirelv around the prison at the base of the walls, which
thus appeared, and were, completely separated from
the floor. I endeavored, but of course in vain, to
look through the aperture.
As I arose from the attempt, the mystery of the altera-


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 85
tion in the chamber broke at once upon my understand-
ing. I have observed that, although the outlines of the
figures upon the walls were sufficiently distinct, yet
the colours seemed blurred and indefinite. These
colors had now assumed, and were momentarily assum-
ing, a startling and most intense brilliancy, that gave
to the spectral and fiendish portraitures an aspect that
might have thrilled even firmer nerves than my own.
Demon eyes, of a wild and ghastly vivacity, glared
upon me in a thousand directions, where none had been
visible before, and gleamed with the lurid lustre of a
fire that I could not force my imagination to regard as
unreal.
Unreal! — Even while I breathed there came to my
nostrils the breath of the vapour of heated iron! A
suffocating odour pervaded the prison! A deeper glow
settled each moment in the eyes that glared at my
agonies! A richer tint of crimson diffused itself over
the pictured horrors of blood. I panted! I gasped
for breath! There could be no doubt of the design of
my tormentors — oh! most unrelenting! oh! most
demoniac of men! I shrank from the glowing metal to
the centre of the cell. Amid the thought of the fiery
destruction that impended, the idea of the coolness of
the well came over my soul like balm. I rushed to its
deadly brink. I threw my straining vision below. The
glare from the enkindled roof illumined its inmost
recesses. Yet, for a wild moment, did my spirit re-
fuse to comprehend the meaning of what I saw. At
length it forced — it wrestled its way into my soul —
it burned itself in upon my shuddering reason. — Oh!
for a voice to speak !— oh! horror !— oh ! any horror
but this! With a shriek, I rushed from the margin,
and buried my face in my hands — weeping bitterly.


86 TALES.
The heat rapidly increased, and once again I looked
up, shuddering as with a fit of the ague. There had
been a second change in the cell — and now the change
was obviously in the form. As before, it was in vain
that I, at first, endeavoured to appreciate or understand
what was taking place. But not long was I left in
doubt. The Inquisitorial vengeance had been hurried
by my two-fold escape, and there was to be no more
dallying with the King of Terrors. The room had
been square. I saw that two of its iron angles were
now acute — two, consequently, obtuse. The fearful
difference quickly increased with a low rumbling or
moaning sound. In an instant the apartment had
shifted its form into that of a lozenge. But the altera-
tion stopped not here — I neither hoped nor desired it
to stop. I could have clasped the red walls to my
bosom as a garment of eternal peace. "Death," I
said, "any death but that of the pit!" Fool! might
I have not known that into the pit it was the object of
the burning iron to urge me? Could I resist its glow?
or, if even that, could I withstand its pressure? And
now, flatter and flatter grew the lozenge, with a rapidity
that left me no time for contemplation. Its centre, and
of course, its greatest width, came just over the yawn-
ing gulf. I shrank back — but the closing walls pressed
me resistlessly onward. At length for my seared and
writhing body there was no longer an inch of foothold
on the firm floor of the prison. I struggled no more,
but the agony of my soul found vent in one loud, long,
and final scream of despair. I felt that I tottered upon
the brink — I averted my eyes —
There was a discordant hum of human voices!
There was a loud blast as of many trumpets! There
was a harsh grating as of a thousand thunders! The


THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 87
fiery walls rushed back! An out-stretched arm caught
my own as I fell, fainting, into the abyss. It was
that of General Lasalle. The French army had en-
tered Toledo. The Inquisition was in the hands of its
enemies.


THE TELL-TALE HEART.
( Tbe Pioneer y January, 1843; Broadivai jfournalt II. 7.)
True ! — nervous — very, very dreadfully nervous
I had been and am; but why trill vou say that I am
mad? The disease had sharpened my senses — not
destroyed — not dulled them. Above all was the
sense of hearing acute. I heard all things in the heav-
en and in the earth. I heard many things in hell.
How, then, am I mad? Hearken ! and observe how
healthily —- how calmly I can tell you the whole
story.
It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my
brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and
night. Object there was none. Passion there was
none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged
me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I
had no desire. I think it was his eye ! yes, it was
this! He had the eye of a vulture — a pale blue eye,
with a film over it. Whenever it fell upon me, my
blood ran cold; and so by degrees — verv graduallv
— I made up my mind to take the life of the old man,
and thus rid myself of the eye forever.
Now this is the point. You fancy me mad. Mad-
men know nothing. But you should have seen mc.
You should have seen how wisely I proceeded — with
what caution — with what foresight — with what dis-
simulation I went to work! I was never kinder to
(88)


THE TELL-TALE HEART. 89
the old man than during the whole week before I killed
him. And every night, about midnight, I turned the
latch of his door and opened it — oh so gently! And
then, when I had made an opening sufficient for my
head, I put in a dark lantern, all closed, closed, so
that no light shone out, and then I thrust in my head.
Oh, you would have laughed to see how cunningly I
thrust it in! I moved it slowly — very, very slowly,
so that I might not disturb the old man's sleep. It
took me an hour to place my whole head within the
opening so far that I could see him as he lay upon his
bed. Ha !— would a madman have been so wise as
this? And then, when my head was well in the
room, I undid the lantern cautiously — oh, so cauti-
ously — cautiously (for the hinges creaked) — I undid
it just so much that a single thin ray fell upon the vult-
ure eye. And this I did for seven long nights — every
night just at midnight — but I found the eye always
closed; and so it was impossible to do the work; for
it was not the old man who vexed me, but his Evil
Eye. And every morning, when the day broke, I
went boldly into the chamber, and spoke courageously
to him, calling him by name in a hearty tone, and in-
quiring how he had passed the night. So you see he
would have been a very profound old man, indeed, to
suspect that every night, just at twelve, I looked in
upon him while he slept.
Upon the eighth night I was more than usually cautious
in opening the door. A watch's minute hand moves
more quickly than did mine. Never before that night,
had elt the extent of my own powers—of my saga-
city. I could scarcely contain my feelings of triumph.
To think that there I was, opening the door, little by
little, and he not even to dream of my secret deeds or


oo TALES.
thoughts. I fairly chuckled at the idea; and perhaps
he heard me; for he moved on the bed suddenly, as
if startled. Now you may think that I drew back —
but no. His room was as black as pitch with the
thick darkness, (for the shutters were close fastened,
through fear of robbers,) and so I knew that he could
not see the opening of the door, and I kept pushing it
on steadily, steadily.
I had my head in, and was about to open the
lantern, when my thumb slipped upon the tin fasten-
ing, and the old man sprang up in bed, crying out —
"Who '« there i"
I kept quite still and said nothing. For a whole
hour I did not move a muscle, and in the meantime I
did not hear him lie down. He was still sitting up in
the bed listening ; —just as I have done, night after
night, hearkening to the death watches in the wall.
Presently I heard a slight groan, and I knew it was
the groan of mortal terror. It was not a groan of pain
or of grief— oh, no ! — it was the low stifled sound
that arises from the bottom of the soul when over-
charged with awe. I knew the sound well. Manv a
night, just at midnight, when all the world slept,.it has
welled up from my own bosom, deepening, with its
dreadful echo, the terrors that distracted me. I say I
knew it well. I knew what the old man felt, and
pitied him, although I chuckled at heart. I knew that
he had been lying awake ever since the first slight
noise, when he had turned in the bed. His fears had
been ever since growing upon him. He had been
trying to fancy them causeless, but could not. He
had been saving to himself— " It is nothing but the
wind in the chimney — it is only a mouse crossing the
floor," or "it is merely a cricket which has made a


THE TELL-TALE HEART. 91
single chirp." Yes, he had been trying to comfort
himself with these suppositions: but he had found all
in vain. All in vain; because Death, in approach-
ing him had stalked with his black shadow before him,
and enveloped the victim. And it was the mournful
influence of the unperceived shadow that caused him to
feel — although he neither saw nor heard — to feel the
presence of my head within the room.
When I had waited a long time, very patiently,
without hearing him lie down, I resolved to open a
little — a very, very little crevice in the lantern. So
I opened it — you cannot imagine how stealthily,
stealthily — until, at length a simple dim ray, like the
thread of the spider, shot from out the crevice and fell
full upon the vulture eye.
It was open — wide, wide open — and I grew
furious as I gazed upon it. I saw it with perfect dis-
tinctness — all a dull blue, with a hideous veil over it
that chilled the very marrow in my bones ; but I could
see nothing else of the old man's face or person: for
I had directed the ray as if by instinct, precisely upon
the damned spot.
And have I not told you that what you mistake for
madness is but over acuteness of the senses? — now, I
say, there came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound,
such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I
knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the
old man's heart. It increased my fury, as the beating
of a drum stimulates the soldier into courage.
But even yet I refrained and kept still. I scarcely
breathed. I held the lantern motionless. I tried how
steadily I could maintain the ray upon the eye. Mean-
time the hellish tattoo of the heart increased. It grew
quicker and quicker, and louder and louder every in-


92 TALES.
stant. The old man's terror must have been extreme!
It grew louder, I say, louder every moment! — do
you mark me well? I have told you that I am nervous:
so I am. And now at the dead hour of the night,
amid the dreadful silence of that old house, so strange
a noise as this excited me to uncontrollable terror.
Yet, for some minutes longer I refrained and stood
still. But the beating grew louder, louder! I thought
the heart must burst. And now a new anxiety seized
me — the sound would be heard by a neighbour!
The old man's hour had come! With a loud yell, I
threw open the lantern and leaped into the room. He
shrieked once — once only. In an instant I dragged
him to the floor, and pulled the heavy bed over him.
I then smiled gaily, to find the deed so far done. But,
for many minutes, the heart beat on with a muffled
sound. This, however, did not vex me; it would
not be heard through the wall. At length it ceased.
The old man was dead. I removed the bed and ex-
amined the corpse. Yes, he was stone, stone dead.
I placed my hand upon the heart and held it there
many minutes. There was no pulsation. He was
stone dead. His eye would trouble me no more.
If still you think me mad, you will think so no
longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for
the concealment of the body. The night waned, and
I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dis-
membered the corpse. I cut off the head and the
arms and the legs.
I then took up three planks from the flooring of the
chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I
then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly,
that no human eye — not even his — could have
detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to


THE TELI^-TALE HEART. 93
wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot
whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub
had caught all — ha! ha!
When I had made an end of these labors, it was
four o'clock — still dark as midnight. As the bell
sounded the hour, there came a knocking at the street
door. I went down to open it with a light heart, —
for what had I now to fear? There entered three
men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity,
as officers of the police. A shriek had been heard by
a neighbour during the night; suspicion of foul play
had been aroused; information had been lodged at the
police office, and they (the officers) had been deputed
to search the premises.
I smiled,— for what had I to fear? I bade the
gentlemen welcome. The shriek, I said, was my
own in a dream. The old man, I mentioned, was
absent in the country. I took my visitors all over the
house. I bade them search — search well. I led
them, at length, to his chamber. I showed them his
treasures, secure, undisturbed. In the enthusiasm of
my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and
desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I
myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph,
placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which
reposed the corpse of the victim.
The officers were satisfied. My manner had con-
vinced them. I was singularly at ease. They sat,
and while I answered cheerily, they chatted of familiar
things. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and
wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied
a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still
chatted. The ringing became more distinct:—it
continued and became more distinct: I talked more


94 TALES.
freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and
gained definiteness — until, at length, I found that the
noise was not within my ears.
No doubt I now grew very pale ;— but I talked more
fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound
increased — and what could I do? It was a lota, dull,
quick sound— much such a sound as a watch mates
when enveloped in cotton. I gasped for breath — and
yet the officers heard it not. I talked more quickly —
more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased.
I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with
violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased.
Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to
and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the
observations of the men — but the noise steadily in-
creased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed — I
raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I
had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but
the noise arose over all and continually increased. It
grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men
chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they
heard not? Almighty God ! — no, no! They heard!
— they suspected ! — they hncto ! — they were making
a mockery of my horror ! — this I thought, and this I
think. But anything was better than this agony! Any-
thing was more tolerable than this derision! I could
bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I
must scream or die! and now — again !— hark!
louder! louder ! louder! louder!
"Villains!" I shrieked, "dissemble no more! I
admit the deed !— tear up the planks! here, here !—
it is the beating of his hideous heart !''


THE GOLD-BUG.
What ho ! what ho! this fellow is dancing mad!
He hath been bitten by the Tarantula.
All in tie Wrong.
[Prisu Story of tie Piiladelphia Dollar Newspaper, June 21-28,
1843 ; 1845. Corrected by J. L. Graham copy.]
Many years ago, I contracted an intimacy with a
Mr. William Legrand. He was of an ancient
Huguenot family, and had once been wealthy ; but a
series of misfortunes had reduced him to want. To
avoid the mortification consequent upon his disasters,
he left New Orleans, the city of his forefathers, and
took up his residence at Sullivan's Island, near Charles-
ton, South Carolina.
This Island is a very singular one. It consists of
little else than the sea sand, and is about three miles
long. Its breadth at no point exceeds a quarter of
a mile. It is separated from the main land by a
scarcely perceptible creek, oozing its way through a
wilderness of reeds and slime, a favorite resort of the
marsh-hen. The vegetation, as might be supposed,
is scant, or at least dwarfish. No trees of any magni-
tude are to be seen. Near the western extremity,
where Fort Moultrie stands, and where are some
miserable frame buildings, tenanted, during summer,
by the fugitives from Charleston dust and fever,
may be found, indeed, the bristly palmetto; but the
(95)


96 TALES.
whole island, with the exception of this western point,
and a line of hard, white beach on the seacoast, is
covered with a dense undergrowth of the sweet myrtle,
so much prized by the horticulturists of England.
The shrub here often attains the height of 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 more remote end of the island, Legrand
had built himself a small hut, which he occupied when
I first, by mere accident, made his acquaintance.
This soon ripened into friendship — for there was
much in the recluse to excite interest and esteem. I
found him well educated, with unusual powers of
mind, but infected with misanthropy, and subject to
perverse moods of alternate enthusiasm and melan-
choly. He had with him many books, but rarely em-
ployed them. His chief amusements were gunning and
fishing, or sauntering along the beach and through the
myrtles, in quest of shells or entomological specimens;
— his collection of the latter might have been envied
by a Swammerdamm. In these excursions he was
usually accompanied by an old negro, called Jupiter,
who had been manumitted before the reverses of the
family, but who could be induced, neither by threats
nor by promises, to abandon what he considered his
right of attendance upon the footsteps of his young
"Massa Will." It is not improbable that the rela-
tives of Legrand, conceiving him to be somewhat un-
settled in intellect, had contrived to instil this obstinacy
into Jupiter, with a view to the supervision and guar-
dianship of the wanderer.
The winters in the latitude of Sullivan's Island are
seldom very severe, and in the fall of the year it is a


THE GOLD-BUG. 97
rare event indeed when a fire is considered necessary.
About the middle of October, 18—, there occurred,
however, a day of remarkable chilliness. Just before
sunset I scrambled my way through the evergreens to
the hut of my friend, whom I had not visited for
several weeks — my residence being, at that time, in
Charleston, a distance of nine miles from the Island,
while the facilities of passage and re-passage were very
far behind those of the present 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 an overcoat,
took an arm-chair by the crackling logs, and awaited
patiently the 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 some marsh-hens for supper.
Legrand was in one of his fits — how else shall I term
them ? — of enthusiasm. He had found an unknown
bivalve, forming a new genus, and, more than this, he
had hunted down and secured, with Jupiter's assist-
ance, a scarabteus 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, and wishing the whole tribe of
scarabai at the devil.
"Ah, if I had only known you were here !" said
Legrand, "but it's so long since I saw you; and
how could I foresee that you would pay me a visit
thi3 very night of all others? As I was coming home
I met Lieutenant G , from the fort, and, very
Vol. V. — 7


98 TALES.
foolishly, I lent him the bug ; so it will be impossible
for you to see it until morning. Stay here to-night,
and I will send Jup down for it at sunrise. It is the
loveliest thing in creation!"
"What ? — sunrise?"
"Nonsense! no !— the bug. It is of a brilliant
gold color — about the size of a large hickory-nut —
with two jet black spots near one extremity of the
back, and another, somewhat longer, at the other.
The antennoe are —"
"Dey aint no tin in him, Massa Will, I keep a
tellin on you," here interrupted 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 mv
life."
"Well, suppose it is, Jup," replied Legrand, some-
what more earnestly, it seemed to me, than the case
demanded, "is that any reason for your letting the
birds burn? The color '' — here he turned to me —
"is really almost enough to warrant Jupiter's idea.
You never saw a more brilliant metallic lustre than the
scales emit — but of this you cannot judge till to-
morrow. In the mean time I can give you some idea
of the shape." Saying this, he seated himself at a
small table, on which were a pen and ink, 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 from his 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, I retained my seat by the fire, for I was still
chilly. When the design was complete, he handed it
to me without rising. As I received it, a loud growl
was heard, succeeded by a scratching at the door.


THE GOLD-BUG. 99
Jnpiter opened it, and a large Newfoundland, belong-
ing to Legrand, rushed in, leaped upon my shoulders,
and loaded me with caresses; for I had shown him
much attention during previous visits. When his
gambols were over, I looked at the paper, and, to
speak the truth, found myself not a little puzzled at
what my friend had depicted.
"Well !" I said, after contemplating it for some
minutes, "this is a strange scarabaus, I must confess:
new to me: never saw anything like it before — un-
less it was a skull, or a death's-head — which it more
nearly resembles than anything else that has come
under my observation."
"A death's-head !'' echoed Legrand — "Oh —
yes — well, it has something of that appearance upon
paper, no doubt. The two upper black spots look like
eyes, eh? and the longer one at the bottom like a
mouth — and then the shape of the whole is oval."
"Perhaps so," said I; "but, Legrand, I fear you
are no artist. I must wait until I see the beetle itself,
if I am to form any idea of its personal appearance.''
"Well, I don't know," said he, a little nettled,
"I draw tolerably — should do it at least — have had
good masters, and flatter myself that I am not quite a
blockhead."
"But, my dear fellow, you are joking then," said
I, " this is a very passable skull— indeed, I may say
that it is a very excellent skull, according to the vulgar
notions about such specimens of physiology — and your
scarabteus must be the queerest scaraboeus in the world
if it resembles it. Why, we may get up a very thril-
ling bit of superstition upon this hint. I presume you
will call the bug scarabaus caput bominis, or something
of that kind — there are many similar titles in the


loo TALES.
Natural Histories. But where are the antenna you
spoke of?"
"The antenna.'" said Legrand, who seemed to be
getting unaccountablv warm upon the subject; "I am
sure you must see the antenna. I made them as dis-
tinct as they are in the original insect, and I presume
that is sufficient."
"Well, well," I said, "perhaps you have — still I
don't see them ; " and 1 handed him the paper without
additional remark, not wishing to ruffle his temper; but
I was much surprised at the turn affairs had taken ; his
ill humor puzzled me — and, as for the drawing of the
beetle, there were positively no antenna visible, and
the whole did bear a very close resemblance 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 design seemed suddenly to rivet
his attention. In an instant his face grew violently
red — in another as excessively pale. For some min-
utes he continued to scrutinize the drawing minutely
where he sat. At length he arose, took a candle from
the table, and proceeded to seat himself upon a sea-
chest in the farthest corner of the room. Here again
he made an anxious examination of the paper; turning
it in all directions. He said nothing, however, and
his conduct greatly astonished me; yet I thought it
prudent not to exacerbate the growing moodiness of
his temper by any comment. Presently he took from
his coat pocket a wallet, placed the paper carefully in
it, and deposited both in a writing-desk, which he
locked. He now grew more composed in his de-
meanor; but his original air of enthusiasm had quite
disappeared. Yet he seemed not so much sulky as


THE GOLD-BUG. 1O1
abstracted. As the evening wore away he became
more and more absorbed in reverie, from which no
sallies of mine could arouse him. It had been my in-
tention 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. He did not press me to remain,
but, as I departed, he shook my hand with even more
than his usual cordiality.
It was about a month after this (and during the in-
terval I had seen nothing of Legrand) when I received
a visit, at Charleston, from his man, Jupiter. I had
never seen the good old negro look so dispirited, and I
feared 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 neber plain of notin —
but him berry sick for all dat."
"Very sick, Jupiter !— why did n't you say so at
once? Is he confined to bed?"
"No, dat he aim ! — he aint find nowhar— dat's
just whar de shoe pinch — 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.
Has n't he told you what ails him?"
"Why, massa, taint worf while for to git mad
bout de matter— Massa Will say noffin at all aint de
matter wid him — but den what make him go about
looking dis here way, wid he head down and he


I02 TALES.
soldiers up, and as white as a gose? And den he keep
a syphon all de tune —''
"Keeps a what, Jupiter?"
"Keeps a syphon wid de figgurs on de slate — de
queerest figgurs I ebber did see. Ise gittin to be
steered, I tell you. Hab for to keep mighty tight
eye pon him noovers. Todder day he gib me slip
fore de sun up and was gone de whole ob de blessed
day. I had a big stick ready cut for to gib him
d^-d good beating when he did come — but Ise sich a
fool dat I had n't de heart alter all — he look so berry
poorly."
"Eh? — what? — ah yes! — upon the whole I
think you had better not be too severe with the poor
fellow—don't flog him, Jupiter — he can't very well
stand it — but can you form no idea of what has occa-
sioned this illness, or rather this change of conduct?
Has anything unpleasant happened since I saw you?"
"No, massa, dey aint bin noffin onpleasant since
den — 't was fore den I 'm feared — 't was de beriy
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 dat Massa Will bin
bit somewhere bout de head 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 d—d bug — he kick and he bite eberv
ting what cum near him. Massa Will cotch him
fuss, but had for to let him go gin mighty quick, I tell
you — den was de time he must ha got de bite. I
did n't like de look ob de bug mouff, myself, no how,


THE GOLD-BUG. 103
so I would n't take hold ob him wid my finger, but I
cotch him wid a piece ob paper dat I found. I rap
him up in de paper and stuff piece ob it in he mouff
— dat 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 about it — I nose it. What
make him dream bout de goole so much, if taint cause
he bit by de goole-bug? Ise heerd bout dem goolc-
bugs fore dis."
"But how do you know he dreams about gold?"
"How I know? why cause he talk about it in he
sleep — dat 's how I nose."
"Well, Jup, perhaps you are right; but to what
fortunate circumstance am I to attribute the honor of a
visit from you to-day ?''
"What dc matter, massa?"
"Did you bring any message from Mr. Legrand?"
"No, massa, I bring dis here pissel;" and here
Jupiter handed me a note which ran thus:
My Dear
Why have I not seen you for so long a time? I hope
you have not been so foolish 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 to tell you, yet scarcely know how to
tell it, or whether I should tell it at all.
I have not been quite well for some days past, and
poor old Jup annoys me, almost beyond endurance, by
his well-meant attentions. Would you believe it ? — he
had prepared a huge stick, the other day, with which to
chastise me for giving him the slip, and spending the day,
lolus, among the hills on the main land. I verily believe
that my ill looks alone saved me a flogging.


104 TALES.
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. I assure you that
it is of the highest importance.
Ever yours,
William Legrand.
There was something in the tone of this note which
gave me great uneasiness. Its whole style differed mate-
rially from that of Legrand. What could he be dream-
ing of? What new crotchet possessed his excitable
brain? What "business of the highest importance"
could be possibly have to transact? Jupiter's account
of him boded no good. I dreaded lest the continued
pressure of misfortune had, at length, fairly unsettled
the reason of my friend. Without a moment's hesita-
tion, therefore, I prepared to accompany the negro.
Upon reaching the wharf, I noticed a scythe and
three spades, all apparently new, lying in the bottom
of the boat in which we were to embark.
"What is the meaning of all this, Jup?" I in-
quired.
"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 in de 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 / know, and debbil take me if I
don't blieve 't is more dan he know, too. But it's all
cum ob de bug."


THE GOLD-BUG. 105
Finding that no satisfaction was to be obtained of
Jupiter, whose whole intellect seemed to be absorbed
by "de bug," I now stepped into the boat and made
sail. With a fair and strong breeze we soon ran into
the little cove to the northward of Fort Moultrie, and
a walk of some two miles brought us to the hut. It
was about three in the afternoon when we arrived.
Legrand had been awaiting us in eager expectation.
He grasped my hand with a nervous empressement
which alarmed me and strengthened the suspicions
already entertained. His countenance was pale even
to ghastliness, and his deep-set eyes glared with unnat-
ural lustre. After some inquiries respecting his health,
I asked him, not knowing what better to say, if he
had yet obtained the scarabaus from Lieutenant
G .
"Oh, yes," he replied, coloring violently, "I got
it from him the next morning. Nothing should tempt
me to part with that scarabaus. Do you know 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 air of 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 fam-
ily possessions. Is it any wonder, then, that I prize
it? Since Fortune has thought fit to bestow it upon
me, I have only to use it properly and I shall arrive at
the gold of which it is the index. Jupiter, bring me
that scarabaus !''
"What! de bug, massa? I 'd rudder not go for
trubblc datbug — youmus git him for your own self."


106 TALES.
Hereupon Legrand arose, with a grave and stately air,
and brought me the beetle from a glass case in which
it was enclosed. It was a beautiful scarabotus, and, at
that time, unknown to naturalists — of course a great
prize in a scientific point of view. There were two
round, black spots near one extremity of the back, and
a long one near the other. The scales were exceed-
ingly hard and glossy, with all the appearance of bur-
nished gold. The weight of the insect was very
remarkable, and, taking all things into consideration, I
could hardly blame Jupiter for his opinion respecting
it; but what to make of Legrand's agreement with
that opinion, I could not, for the life of me, tell.
"I sent for you," said he, in a grandiloquent tone,
when I had completed my examination of the beetle,
"I sent for you, that I might have your counsel 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 I will re-
main with you a few days, until you get over this.
You are feverish and '' —
"Feel my pulse," said he.
I felt it, and, to say the truth, found not the slight-
est indication of fever.
"But you may be ill and yet have no fever. Allow
me this once to prescribe 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 be under the excitement which
I suffer. If you really wish me well, you will relieve
this excitement."
"And how is this to be done?"


THE GOLD-BUG. I07
"Very easily. Jupiter and myself are going upon
an expedition into the hills, upon the main land, and,
in this expedition, we shall need the aid of some 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 me will be equally
allayed."
"I am anxious to oblige you in any way," I re-
plied; "but do you mean to say that this infernal beetle
has any connection with your expedition into 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 you propose to be
absent?"
"Probably all night. We shall start immediately,
and be back, at all events, by sunrise."
"And will you promise me, upon your honor, that
when this freak of yours is over, and the bug business
(good God !) settled to your satisfaction, 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 four o'clock — Legrand, Jupiter, the dog,
and myself. Jupiter had with him the scythe and
spades — the whole of which he insisted upon carry-
ing— more through fear, it seemed to me, of trusting
either of the implements within reach of his master, than


108 TALES.
from any excess of industry or complaisance. His de-
meanor was dogged in the extreme, and "dat d—d
bug'' were the sole words which escaped his lips dur-
ing the journey. For my own part, I had charge of a
couple of dark lanterns, while Legrand contented him-
self with the scarabaus, which he carried attached to
the end of a bit of whip-cord; twirling it to and fro,
with the air of a conjuror, as he went. When I ob-
served this last, plain evidence of my friend's aberration
of mind, I could scarcely refrain from tears. I thought
it best, however, to humor his fancy, at least for the
present, or until I could adopt some more energetic
measures with a chance of success. In the mean time
I endeavored, but all in vain, to sound him in regard
to the object of the expedition. Having succeeded in
inducing me to accompany him, he seemed unwilling to
hold conversation upon any topic of minor importance,
and to all my questions vouchsafed no other reply 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 main land, proceeded in a northwest-
erly direction, through a tract of country excessively
wild and desolate, where no trace of a human footstep
was to be seen. Legrand led the way with decision;
pausing only for an instant, here and there, to consult
what appeared to be certain landmarks of his own con-
trivance upon a former occasion.
In this manner we journeyed for about two hours,
and the sun was just setting when we entered a region
infinitely more dreary than any yet seen. It was a
species of table land, near the summit of an almost in-
accessible hill, densely wooded from base to pinnacle,
and interspersed with huge crags that appeared to lie


THE GOLD-BUG. 109
loosely upon the soil, and in many cases were prevented
from precipitating themselves into the valleys below,
merely by the support of the trees against which they
reclined. Deep ravines, in various directions, gave an
air of still sterner solemnity to the scene.
The natural platform to which we had clambered
was thickly overgrown with brambles, through which
we soon discovered that it would have been impossible
to force our way but for the scythe; and Jupiter, by
direction of his master, proceeded to clear for us a path
to the foot of an 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 I had
then ever seen, in the beauty of its foliage and form,
in the wide spread of its branches, and in the general
majesty of its appearance. When we reached this tree,
Legrand turned to Jupiter, and asked him if he thought
he could climb it. The old man seemed a little stag-
gered by the question, and for some moments made no
reply. At length he approached the huge trunk,
walked slowly around it, and examined it with minute
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 to see 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 to go — and here — stop ! take this
beetle with you."
"De bug, Massa Will ! — de goole bug!" cried
the negro, drawing back in dismay — " what for mus
tote de bug way up de tree ? — d—n if I do!"


11O TALES.
"If you are afraid, Jup, a great big negro like you, to
take hold of a harmless little dead beetle, why you can
carry it up by this string — but, if you do not take it
up with you in some way, I shall be under the neces-
sity of breaking your head with this shovel."
"What de matter now, massa?" said Jup, evi-
dently 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 cautiously hold of the extreme end of the
string, and, maintaining the insect as far from his per-
son as circumstances would permit, prepared to ascend
the tree.
In youth, the tulip-tree, or Liriodendron Tulipiferum,
the most magnificent of American foresters, has a trunk
peculiarly smooth, and often rises to a great height with-
out lateral branches; but, in its riper age, the bark
becomes gnarled and uneven, while many short limbs
make their appearance on the stem. Thus the diffi-
culty of ascension, in the present case, lay more in
semblance than in reality. Embracing the huge cyl-
inder, as closely as possible, with his arms and knees,
seizing with his hands some projections, and resting his
naked toes upon others, Jupiter, after one or two nar-
row escapes from falling, at length wriggled himself
into the first great fork, and seemed to consider the
whole business as virtually accomplished. The risk
of the achievement was, in fact, now over, although
the climber was some sixty or 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. The negro obeyed him promptly, and


11 2 TALES.
"Do !" said I, glad of an opportunity to interpose
a word, "why come home 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 very rotten."
"Him rotten, massa, sure nuff," replied the negro
in a few moments, "but not so berry rotten as mought
be. Mought ventur out leetle way pon de limb by
myself, dat's true."
"By yourself ! — what do you mean?"
"Why I mean de bug. 'T is 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, appar-
ently much relieved, "what do you mean by telling
me such nonsense as that? As sure as you let that
beetle fall !— I 'll break your neck. Look here,
Jupiter! do you hear me?"
"Yes, massa, need n't hollo at poor nigger dat
style."
"Well! now listen !— if you will venture out on
the limb as far as you think safe, and not let go the
beetle, I 'll make you a present of a silver dollar as
soon as you get down."
"I 'm gwine, Massa Will — deed I is," replied the
negro very promptly— "mos out to the eend now."
"Out to the end!" here fairly screamed Legrand,
"do you say you are out to the end of that limb?"
"Soon be to de eend, massa, —o-o-o-o-oh! Lor-
gol-a-marcy! what is dis here pon de tree?"


THE GOLD-BUG. 113
"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 ? — what holds it on?"
"Sure nuff, massa; mus look. Why dis berry
curous sarcumstance, pon my word—dare's a great
big nail in de skull, what fastens ob it on to de tree."
"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 dar 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 left
hand what I chops de wood wid."
"To be sure! you are left-handed; and your left
eye is on the same side as your left hand. Now, I
suppose, you can find the left eye of the skull, 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 of de skull pon de same side as de
lef hand of de skull, too ? — cause de skull aint got
not a bit ob a hand at all — nebber mind! I got de
lef eye now — here the lef eye! what mus do wid
it?"
"Let the beetle drop through it, as far as the string
Vol. V. — S


114 TALES.
will reach — but be careful and not let go your hold
of the string."
"All dat done, Massa Will; mighty easy ting for
to put de bug fru de hole — look out for him dar
below!"
During this colloquy no portion of Jupiter's person
could be seen; but the beetle, which he had suffered
to descend, was now visible at the end of the string,
and glistened, like a globe of burnished gold, in the
last rays of the setting sun, some of which still faintly
illumined the eminence upon which we stood. The
scarabams hung quite clear of any branches, and, if
allowed to fall, would have fallen at our feet. Legrand
immediately took the scythe, and cleared with it a cir-
cular space, three or four yards in diameter, just be-
neath the insect, and, having accomplished this,
ordered Jupiter to let go the string and come down
from the tree.
Driving a peg, with great nicety, into the ground,
at the precise spot where the beetle fell, my friend
now produced from his pocket a tape-measure. Fas-
tening one end of this at that point of the trunk of the
tree which was nearest the peg, he unrolled it till it
reached the peg, and thence farther unrolled it, in the
direction already established by the two points of the
tree and the peg, for the distance of fifty feet —
Jupiter clearing away the brambles with the scythe.
At the spot thus attained a second peg was driven, and
about this, as a centre, a rude circle, about four feet in
diameter, described. Taking now a spade himself,
and giving one to Jupiter and one to me, Legrand
begged us to set about digging as quickly as possible.
To speak the truth, I had no especial relish for
such amusement at any time, and, at that particular


THE GOLD-BUG. 115
moment, would most willingly have declined it; for
the night was coming on, and I felt much fatigued
with the exercise already taken; but I saw no mode
of escape, and was fearful of disturbing my poor
friend's equanimity by a refusal. Could I have de-
pended, indeed, upon Jupiter's aid, I would have had
no hesitation in attempting to get the lunatic home by
force; but I was too well assured of the old negro's
disposition, to hope that he would assist me, under any
circumstances, in a personal contest with his master.
I made no doubt that the latter had been infected with
some of the innumerable Southern superstitions about
money buried, and that his phantasy had received con-
firmation by the finding of the scarabaus, or, perhaps,
by Jupiter's obstinacy in maintaining it to be "a bug
of real gold." A mind disposed to lunacy would
readily be led away by such suggestions — especially
if chiming in with favorite preconceived ideas — and
then I called to mind the poor fellow's speech about
the beetle's being " the index of his fortune." Upon
the whole, I was sadly vexed and puzzled, but, at
length, I concluded to make a virtue of necessity — to
dig with a good will, and thus the sooner to convince
the visionary, by ocular demonstration, of the fallacy
of the opinions he entertained.
The lanterns having been lit, we all fell to work
with a zeal worthy a more rational cause; and, as
the glare fell upon our persons and implements, I could
not help thinking how picturesque a group we com-
posed, and how strange and suspicious our labors must
have appeared to any interloper who, by chance, might
have stumbled upon our whereabouts.
We dug very steadily for two hours. Little was
said ; and our chief embarrassment lay in the yelpings


1 16 TALES.
of the dog, who took exceeding interest in our pro-
ceedings. He, at length, became so obstreperous that
we grew fearful of his giving the alarm to some
stragglers in the vicinity ;— or, rather, this was the
apprehension of Legrand ; — for myself, I should have
rejoiced at any interruption which might have enabled
me to get the wanderer home. The noise was, at
length, very effectually silenced by Jupiter, 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 five feet, and yet no signs of any
treasure became manifest. A general pause ensued, and
I began to hope that the farce was at an end. Legrand,
however, although evidently much disconcerted, wiped
his brow thoughtfully and recommenced. We had
excavated the entire circle of four feet diameter, and
now we slightly enlarged the limit, and went to the
farther depth of two feet. Still nothing appeared.
The gold-seeker, whom I sincerely pitied, at length
clambered from the pit, with the bitterest disappoint-
ment imprinted upon every feature, and proceeded,
slowly and reluctantly, to put on his coat, which he
had thrown off at the beginning of his labor. In the
mean time I made no remark. Jupiter, at a signal
from his master, began to gather up his tools. This
done, and the dog having been unmuzzled, we turned
in profound silence towards home.
We had taken, perhaps, a dozen steps in this direc-
tion, when, with a loud 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.


THE GOLD-BUG. 117
"You scoundrel," said Legrand, hissing out the
syllables from between his clenched teeth — "you
infernal black villain ! — speak, I tell you !— answer
me this instant, without prevarication !— which —
which is your left eye?"
"Oh, my golly, Massa Will! aint dis here my lef
eye for sartain ?'' roared the terrified Jupiter, placing
his hand upon his right organ of vision, and holding it
there with a desperate pertinacity, as if in immediate
dread of his master's attempt at a gouge.
"I thought so ! — I knew it !— hurrah !'' vocife-
rated Legrand, letting the negro go, and executing a
series of curvets and caracols, much to the astonish-
ment of his valet, who, arising from his knees, looked,
mutely, from his master to myself, and then from my-
self to his master.
"Come! we must go back," said the latter, "the
game 's not up yet;" and he again led the way to the
tulip-tree.
"Jupiter," said he, when we reached its foot,
"come here! was the skull nailed 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 let the beetle fall ?" — here Legrand touched
each of Jupiter's eyes.
"T was dis eye, massa — de lef eye—jis as you
tell me," and here it was his 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 spot where the


1 18 TALES.
º
beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the west-
ward of its former position. Taking, now, the tape-
measure from the nearest point of the trunk to the
peg, as before, and continuing the extension in 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 former instance, was now described, and
we again set to work with the spades. I was dread-
fully weary, but, scarcely understanding what had
occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer
any great aversion from the labor imposed. I had
become most unaccountably interested — nay, even
excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the
extravagant demeanor of Legrand — some air of fore-
thought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I
dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually
looking, with something that very much resembled
expectation, for the fancied treasure, the vision of
which had demented my unfortunate companion. At
a period when such vagaries of thought most fully
possessed me, and when we had been at work perhaps
an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the
violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the
first instance, had been, evidently, but the result of
playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter
and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to
muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping
into the hole, tore up the mould frantically with his
claws. In a few seconds he had uncovered a mass of
human bones, forming two complete skeletons, inter-
mingled with several buttons of metal, and what
appeared to be the dust of decayed woollen. One or





.!!»'. >' .' \ A .-.it U





nS TALES.
beetle fell, to a spot about three inches to the west-
ward of its former position. Taking, now, the tape-
measure from the nearest point of the trunk to the
peg, as before, and continuing the extension in 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 former instance, was now described, and
we again set to work with the spades. I was dread-
fully weary, but, scarcely understanding what had
occasioned the change in my thoughts, I felt no longer
any great aversion from the labor imposed. I had
become most unaccountably interested — nay, even
excited. Perhaps there was something, amid all the
extravagant demeanor of Legrand — some air of fore-
thought, or of deliberation, which impressed me. I
dug eagerly, and now and then caught myself actually
looking, with something that very much resembled
expectation, for the fancied treasure, the vision of
which had demented my unfortunate companion. At
a period when such vagaries of thought most fully
possessed me, and when we had been at work perhaps
an hour and a half, we were again interrupted by the
violent howlings of the dog. His uneasiness, in the
first instance, had been, evidently, but the result of
playfulness or caprice, but he now assumed a bitter
and serious tone. Upon Jupiter's again attempting to
muzzle him, he made furious resistance, and, leaping
into the hole, tore up the mould frantically with his
claws. In a few seconds he had uncovered a mass of
human bones, forming two complete skeletons, inter-
mingled with several buttons of metal, and what
appeared to be the dust of decayed woollen. One or


The Gold Big.
Drawn bA F. C. Ttlney.











THE GOLD-BUG. 119
two strokes of a spade upturned the blade of a large
Spanish knife, and, as we dug farther, 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, but the countenance of his master wore an
air of extreme disappointment. He urged us, how-
ever, to continue our exertions, and the words were
hardly uttered when I stumbled and fell forward, hav-
ing caught the toe of my boot 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 more intense excitement. During this
interval we had fairly unearthed an oblong chest of
wood, which, from it3 perfect preservation, and won-
derful hardness, had plainly been subjected to some
mineralizing process — perhaps that of the Bi-chloride
of Mercury. This box was three feet and a half
long, three feet broad, and two and a half feet deep.
It was firmly secured by bands of wrought iron,
riveted, and forming a kind of trellis-work over the
whole. On each side of the chest, near the top,
were three rings of iron — six in all—by means of
which a firm hold could be obtained by six persons.
Our utmost united endeavors served only to disturb
the coffer very slightly in its bed. We at once saw
the impossibility of removing so great a weight.
Luckily, the sole fastenings of the lid consisted of two
sliding bolts. These we drew back—trembling and
panting with anxiety. In an instant, a treasure of
incalculable value lay gleaming before us. As the rays
of the lanterns fell within the pit, there flashed up-
wards, from a confused heap of gold and of jewels,
a glow and a glare that absolutely dazzled our eyes.
I shall not pretend to describe the feelings with


1ZO TALES.
which I gazed. Amazement was, of course, pre-
dominant. Legrand appeared exhausted with excite-
ment, and spoke very few words. Jupiter's counte-
nance wore, for some minutes, as deadly a pallor as it
is possible, in the nature of things, for any negro's
visage to assume. He seemed stupified — thunder-
stricken. 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, he exclaimed, as
if in a soliloquy,
'' And dis all cum ob de goole-bug! de putty goole-
bug! de poor little goole-bug, what I boosed in dat
sabage kind ob style! Aint you shamed ob yourself,
nigger ? — answer me dat !''
It became necessary, at last, that I should arouse
both master and valet to the expediency of removing
the treasure. It was growing late, and it behooved us
to make exertion, that we might get every thing housed
before daylight. It was difficult to say what should be
done; and much time was spent in deliberation — so
confused were the ideas of all. We, finally, lightened
the box by removing two thirds of its contents, when
we were enabled, with some trouble, to raise it from
the hole. The articles taken out were deposited among
the brambles, and the dog left to guard them, with
strict orders from Jupiter neither, upon any pretence,
to stir from the spot, nor to open his mouth until our
return. We then hurriedly made for home with the
chest; reaching the hut in safety, but after excessive
toil, at one o'clock in the morning. Worn out as we
were, it was not in human nature to do more just then.
We rested until two, and had supper; starting for the
hills immediately afterwards, armed with three stout


THE GOLD-BUG. 121
sacks, which, by good luck, were upon the premises.
A little before four we arrived at the pit, divided the
remainder of the booty, 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 deposited our
golden burthens, just as the first streaks of the dawn
gleamed from over the tree-tops in the East.
We were now thoroughly broken down; but the
intense excitement of the time denied us repose. After
an unquiet slumber of some three or four hours' dura-
tion, we arose, as if by preconcert, to make examination
of our treasure.
The chest had been full to the brim, and we spent
the whole day, and the greater part of the next night,
in a scrutiny of its contents. There had been nothing
like order or arrangement. Every thing had been heaped
in promiscuously. Having assorted all with care, we
found ourselves possessed of even vaster wealth than
we had at first supposed. In coin there was rather
more than four hundred and fifty thousand dollars —
estimating the value of the pieces, as accurately as we
could, by the tables of the period. There was not a
particle of silver. All was gold of antique date and
of great variety — French, Spanish, and German
money, with a few English guineas, and some counters,
of which we had never seen specimens before. There
were several very large and heavy coins, so worn that we
could make nothing of their inscriptions. There was
no American money. The value of the jewels we found
more difficulty in estimating. There were diamonds —
some of them exceedingly large and fine — a hundred
and ten in all, and not one of them small; eighteen
rubies of remarkable brilliancy ;— three hundred and
ten emeralds, all very beautiful; and twenty-one sap-


122 TALES.
phires, with an opal. These stones had all been
broken from their settings and thrown loose in the chest.
The settings themselves, which we picked out from
among the other gold, appeared to have been beaten up
with hammers, as if to prevent identification. Besides
all this, there was a vast quantity of solid gold orna-
ments ; — nearly two hundred massive finger and ear
rings ; — rich chains — thirty of these, if I remember;
— eighty-three very large and heavy crucifixes ; —
five gold censers of great value ; — a prodigious golden
punch-bowl, ornamented with richly chased vine-
leaves and Bacchanalian figures ; with two sword-handles
exquisitely embossed, and many other smaller articles
which I cannot recollect. The weight of these valuables
exceeded three hundred and fifty pounds avoirdupois;
and in this estimate I have not included one hundred
and ninety-seven superb gold watches; three of the
number being worth each five hundred dollars, if
one. Many of them were very old, and as time
keepers valueless; the works having suffered, more or
less, from corrosion — but all were richly jewelled and
in cases of great worth. We estimated the entire con-
tents of the chest, that night, at a million and a half
of dollars; and, upon the subsequent disposal of the
trinkets and jewels (a few being retained for our own
use), it was found that we had greatly undervalued the
treasure.
When, at length, we had concluded our examina-
tion, and the intense excitement of the time had, in
some measure, subsided, Legrand, who saw that I was
dying with impatience for a solution of this most extra-
ordinary riddle, entered into a full detail of all the cir-
cumstances connected with it.
"You remember," said he, "the night when I


THE GOLD-BUQ. 123
handed you the rough sketch I had made of the scara-
baus. You recollect also, that I became quite vexed at
you for insisting that my drawing resembled a death's-
head. When you first made this assertion I thought
you were jesting; but afterwards I called to mind the
peculiar spots on the back of the insect, and admitted
to myself that your remark had some little foundation
in fact. Still, the sneer at my graphic powers irritated
me — for I am considered a good artist — and, there-
fore, when you handed me the scrap of parchment, I
was about to crumple it up and throw it angrily into
the fire."
"The scrap of paper, you mean," said I.
"No; it had much of the appearance of paper, and
at first I supposed it to be such, but when I came to
draw upon it, I discovered it, at once, to be a piece of
very thin parchment. It was quite dirty, you re-
member. Well, as I was in the very act of crumpling
it up, my glance fell upon the sketch at which you had
been looking, and you may imagine my astonishment
when I perceived, in fact, the figure of a death's-head
just where, it seemed to me, I had made the drawing
of the beetle. For a moment I was too much amazed
to think with accuracy. I knew that my design was
very different in detail from this — although there was
a certain similarity in general outline. Presently I
took a candle, and seating myself at the other end of
the room, proceeded to scrutinize the parchment more
closely. Upon turning it over, I saw my own sketch
upon the reverse, just as I had made it. My first idea,
now, was mere surprise at the really remarkable simi-
larity of outline — at the singular coincidence involved
in the fact, that unknown to me, there should have
been a skull upon the other side of the parchment, im-


124 TALES.
mediately beneath my figure of the scarabaus, and
that this skull, not only in outline, but in size, should
so closely resemble my drawing. I say the singularity
of this coincidence absolutely stupified me for a time.
This is the usual effect of such coincidences. The
mind struggles to establish a connection — a sequence
of cause and effect — and, being unable to do so, suf-
fers a species of temporary paralysis. But, when I
recovered from this stupor, there dawned upon me
gradually a conviction which startled me even far more
than the coincidence. I began distinctly, positively,
to remember that there had been no drawing on the
parchment when I made my sketch of the scarabteus.
I became perfectly certain of this; for I recollected
turning up first one side and then the other, in search of
the cleanest spot. Had the skull been then there, of
course I could not have failed to notice it. Here was
indeed a mystery which I felt it impossible to explain;
but, even at that early moment, there seemed to glim-
mer, faintly, within the most remote and secret cham-
bers of my intellect, a glow-worm-like conception of
that truth which last night's adventure brought to so
magnificent a demonstration. I arose at once, and
putting the parchment securely away, dismissed all
farther reflection until I should be alone.
"When you had gone, and when Jupiter was fast
asleep, I betook myself to a more methodical investi-
gation of the affair. In the first place I considered
the manner in which the parchment had come into
my possession. The spot where we discovered the
scarabaus was on the coast of the main land, about a
mile eastward of the island, and but a short distance
above high water mark. Upon my taking hold of it,
it gave me a sharp bite, which caused me to let it drop.


THE GOLD-BUG. 125
Jupiter, with his accustomed caution, before seizing the
insect, which had flown towards him, looked about
him for a leaf, or something of that nature, by which
to 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. It was lying half
buried in the sand, a corner sticking up. Near the
spot where we found it, I observed the remnants of
the hull of what appeared to have been a ship's long
boat. The wreck seemed to have been there for a
very great while; for the resemblance to boat timbers
could scarcely be traced.
"Well, Jupiter picked up the parchment, wrapped
the beetle in it, and gave it to me. Soon afterwards
we turned to go home, and on the way met Lieutenant
G—. I showed him the insect, and he begged me
to let him take it to the fort. On my consenting,
he thrust it forthwith into his waistcoat 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 sure of the prize
at once — you know how enthusiastic he is on all sub-
jects connected with Natural History. At the same
time, without being conscious of it, I must have depos-
ited the parchment in my own pocket.
"You remember that when I went to the table, for
the purpose of making a sketch of the beetle, I found
no paper where it was usually kept. I looked in the
drawer, and found none there. I searched my
pockets, hoping to find an old letter — and then my
hand fell upon the parchment. I thus detail the pre-
cise mode in which it came into my possession ; for the
circumstances impressed me with peculiar force.


126 TALES.
"No doubt you will think me fanciful — but I had al-
ready established a kind of connection. I had put together
two links of a great chain. There was a boat lying
on a sea-coast, and not far from the boat was a parch-
ment — not a paper — with a skull depicted on it.
You will, of course, ask »where is the connection?'
I reply that the skull, or death's-head, is the well-known
emblem of the pirate. The flag of the death's-head
is hoisted in all engagements.
"I have said that the scrap was parchment, and
not paper. Parchment is durable — almost imperish-
able. Matters of little moment are rarely consigned
to parchment ; since, for the mere ordinary purposes of
drawing or writing, it is not nearly so well adapted as
paper. This reflection suggested some meaning —
some relevancy — in the death's-head. I did not fail
to observe, also, the form of the parchment. Although
one of its corners had been, by some accident, de-
stroyed, it could be seen that the original form was
oblong. It was just such a slip, indeed, as might have
been chosen for a memorandum — for a record of
something to be long remembered and carefully pre-
served."
"But,'' I interposed, "you say that the skull was not
upon the parchment when you made the drawing of the
beetle. How then do you trace any connection between
the boat and the skull — since this latter, according to
your own admission, must have been designed (God
only knows how or by whom) at some period subse-
quent to your sketching the scarabceus ?''
"Ah, hereupon turns the whole mystery ; although
the secret, at this point, I had comparatively little diffi-
culty in solving. My steps were sure, and could
afford but a single result. I reasoned, for example,


THE GOLD-BUG. 127
thus: When I drew the scarabceus, there was no skull
apparent on the parchment. When I had completed
the drawing, I gave it to you, and observed you
narrowly until you returned it. You, therefore, did
not design the skull, and no one else was present to do
it. Then it was not done 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 about the period in
question. The weather was chilly (oh rare and
happy accident !), and a fire was blazing on the hearth.
I was heated with exercise and sat near the table.
You, however, had drawn a chair close to the chimney.
Just as I placed the parchment in your hand, and as
you were in the act of inspecting it, Wolf, the New-
foundland, entered, and leaped upon your shoulders.
With your left hand you caressed him and kept him
off', while your right, holding the parchment, was per-
mitted to fall listlessly between your knees, and in close
proximity to the fire. At one moment I thought the
blaze had caught it, and was about to caution you, but,
before I could speak, you had withdrawn it, and were
engaged in its examination. When I considered all
these particulars, I doubted not for a moment that beat
had been the agent in bringing to light, on the parch-
ment, the skull which I saw designed on it. You are
well aware that chemical preparations exist, and have
existed time out of mind, by means of which it is
possible to write on either paper or vellum, so that the
characters shall become visible only when subjected to
the action of fire. ZafiTe, digested in aqua regia, and
diluted with four times its weight of water, is some-
times employed ; a green tint results. The regulus of


128 TALES.
cobalt, dissolved in spirit of nitre, gives a red. These
colors disappear at longer or shorter intervals after the
material written on cools, but again become apparent
upon the re-application of heat.
"I now scrutinized the death's-head with care. Its
outer edges — the edges of the drawing nearest the
edge of the vellum — were far more distinct than the
others. It was clear that.the action of the caloric had
been imperfect or unequal. I immediately kindled a
fire, and subjected 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, on
persevering in the experiment, there became visible, at
the corner of the slip, diagonally opposite to the spot
in which the death's-head was delineated, the figure
of what I at first supposed to be a goat. A closer
scrutiny, however, satisfied me that it was intended for
a kid."
"Ha! ha!" said I, "to be sure I have no right
to laugh at you — a million and a half of money is
too serious a matter for mirth — but you are not about
to establish a third link in your chain — you will not
find any especial connexion 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 of one Captain Kidd. I at
once looked on the figure of the animal as a kind of
punning or hieroglyphical signature. I say signature;
because its position on the vellum suggested this idea.
The death's-head at the corner diagonally opposite,


THE GOLD-BUG. 1 29
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 the body to my imagined instrument — of the text
for my context."
"I presume you expected to find a letter between
the stamp and the signature."
"Something of that kind. The fact is, I felt
irresistibly impressed with a presentiment of some vast
good fortune impending. I can scarcely say why.
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 solid gold, had a remarkable
effect on my fancy? And then the series of accidents
and coincidences — these were so very extraordinary.
Do you observe how mere an accident it was that
these events should have occurred on the sole day of
all the year in which it has been, or may be, sufficiently
cool for fire, and that without the fire, or without the
intervention of the dog at the precise moment in which
he appeared, I should never have become aware of the
death's-head, and so never the possessor of the treas-
ure?"
"But proceed — I am all impatience."
"Well; you have heard, of course, the many sto-
ries current — the thousand vague rumors afloat about
money buried, somewhere on the Atlantic coast, by
Kidd and his associates. These rumors must have had
some foundation in fact. And that the rumors have
existed so long and so continuously could have resulted,
it appeared to me, only from the circumstance of the
buried treasure still remaining entombed. Had Kidd
concealed his plunder for a time, and afterwards re-
claimed it, the rumors would scarcely have reached us
in their present unvarying form. You will observe
Vol. V. — 9


130 TALES.
that the stories told are all about money-seekers, not
about money-finders. Had the pirate recovered his
money, there the affair would have dropped. It
seemed to me that some accident — say the loss of
a memorandum indicating its locality — had deprived
him of the means of recovering it, and that this acci-
dent had become known to his followers, who other-
wise might never have heard that treasure had been
concealed at all, and who, busying themselves in vain,
because unguided attempts, to regain it, had given
first birth, and then universal currency, to the reports
which are now so common. Have you ever heard
of any important treasure being unearthed along the
coast ?''
"Never."
"But that Kidd's accumulations were immense, is
well known. I took it for granted, therefore, that the
earth still held them; and you will scarcely be sur-
prised when I tell you that I felt a hope, nearly
amounting to certainty, that the parchment so strangely
found, involved a lost record of the place of deposit."
"But how did you proceed?"
"I held the vellum again to the fire, after increas-
ing the heat; but nothing appeared. I now thought
it possible that the coating of dirt might have some-
thing to do with the failure; so I carefully rinsed the
parchment by pouring warm water over it, and, hav-
ing done this, I placed it in a tin pan, with the skull
downwards, and put the pan upon a furnace of lighted
charcoal. In a few minutes, the pan having become
thoroughly heated, I removed the slip, and, to my
inexpressible joy, found it spotted, in several places,
with what appeared to be figures arranged in lines.
Again I placed it in the pan, and suffered it to remain


THE GOLD-BUG. 131
another minute. On taking it off, the whole was just
as you see it now."
Here Legrand, having re-heated the parchment,
submitted it to my inspection. The following charac-
ters were rudely traced, in a red tint, between the
death's-head and the goat:
S3nt305))6*;4826)^)4j);8o6*;48tn6o))
8S;]8*:J*8t83(88)5*t;*6(;38*96*?;8)*{(;48s);
5*t2:*JO 4956*2(5*—4)81i 8*J 4069285 );)6f8)
4U:1(+9;48o8i ;8:8t 1 ;48t85;4)485t5288o6*8i(
J9;48;(88;4(t?34;48)4};i6i;:i88;J?;
"But," said I, returning him the slip, "I am as
much in the dark as ever. Were all the jewels of
Golconda awaiting me on my solution of this 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 as you might be led to imagine from
the first hasty inspection of the characters. These
characters, as any one might readily guess, form a
cipher — that is to say, they convey a meaning; but
then, from what is known of Kidd, I could not sup-
pose him capable of constructing any of the more
abstruse cryptographs. I made up my mind, at once,
that this was of a simple species — such, however, as
would appear, to the crude intellect of the sailor, abso-
lutely insoluble without the key."
"And you really solved it?"
"Readily; I have solved others of an abstruseness
ten thousand times greater. Circumstances, and a
certain bias of mind, have led me to take interest in
such riddles, and it may well be doubted whether
human ingenuity can construct an enigma of the kind


132 TALES.
which human ingenuity may not, by proper application,
resolve. In fact, having once established connected
and legible characters, I scarcely gave a thought to the
mere difficulty of developing their import.
"In the present case — indeed in all cases of secret
writing — the first question regards the language of
the cipher; for the principles of solution, so far,
especially, as the more simple ciphers are concerned,
depend on, and are varied by, the genius of the
particular idiom. In general, there is no alternative
but experiment (directed by probabilities) of every
tongue known to him who attempts the solution, until
the true one be attained. But, with the cipher now
before us, all difficulty is removed by the signature.
The pun on the word 'Kidd' is appreciable in no
other language than the English. But for this con-
sideration I should have begun my attempts with the
Spanish and French, as the tongues in which a secret
of this kind would most naturally have been written
by a pirate of the Spanish main. As it was, 1
assumed the cryptograph to be English.
"You observe there are no divisions between the
words. Had there been divisions, the task would
have been comparatively easy. In such case I should
have commenced with a collation and analvsis of the
shorter words, and, had a word of a single letter
occurred, as is most likely, (a or I, for example,) I
should have considered the solution as assured. But,
there being no division, my first step was to ascertain
the predominant letters, as well as the least frequent.
Counting all, I constructed a table, thus:
Of the character 8 there are 33.
; " 26.


THE GOLD-BUG.
•33
Of the character 4
ther<
are 19.
X )
16.
'13-
*
5
6
'12.
'11.
t 1
0
8.
6.
9 2
S-
: 3
4-
?
3-
11
]-
'2.
"Now, in English, the letter which most fre-
quently occurs is e. Afterwards, the succession runs
thus: 4 0 i d h n rs t u y cfg l m w b k f q xx. £
however predominates so remarkably that an indi-
vidual sentence of any length is rarely seen, in which
it is not the prevailing character.
"Here, then, we have, in the very beginning, the
groundwork for something more than a mere guess.
The general use which may be made of the table is
obvious — but, in this particular cipher, we shall only
very partially require its aid. As our predominant
character is 8, we will commence by assuming it as the
e of the natural alphabet. To verify the supposition,
let us observe if the 8 be seen often in couples — for e
is doubled with great frequency in English — in such
words, for example, as 'meet,' 'fleet,' 'speed,'
'seen,' 'been,' 'agree,' &c. In the present in-
stance we see it doubled no less than five times, although
the cryptograph is brief.
"Let us assume 8, then, as e. Now, of all words
in the language, 'the' is most usual; let us see,


134 TALES.
therefore, whether there are not repetitions of any three
characters, in the same order of collocation, the last of
them being 8. If we discover repetitions of such
letters, so arranged, they will most probably represent
the word 'the.' On inspection, we find no less than
seven such arrangements, the characters being ;^.S. We
may, therefore, assume that the semicolon represents /,
that 4 represents b, and that 8 represents e — the last
being now well confirmed. Thus a great step has
been taken.
"But, having established a single word, we are en-
abled to establish a vastly important point; that is to
say, several commencements and terminations of other
words. Let us refer, for example, to the last instance
but one, in which the combination ;48 occurs — not
far from the end of the cipher. We know that the
semicolon immediately ensuing is the commencement
of a word, and, of the six characters succeeding this
'the,' we are cognizant of no less than five. Let us
set these characters down, thus, by the letters we know
them to represent, leaving a space for the unknown —
t eeth.
"Here we are enabled, at once, to discard the
'th,' as forming no portion of the word commencing
with the first t ,- since, by experiment of the entire
alphabet for a letter adapted to the vacancy we perceive
that no word can be formed of which this th can be a
part. We are thus narrowed into
t ee,
and, going through the alphabet, if necessary, as
before, we arrive at the word 'tree,' as the sole
possible reading. We thus gain another letter, r,
represented by (, with the words 'the tree' in
juxtaposition.


THE GOLD-BUG. 135
"Looking beyond these words, for a short distance,
we again see the combination ;^S, and employ it by
way of termination to what immediately 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, or substitute dots, we read thus:
the tree thr...h the,
when the word 'through' makes itself evident at once.
But this discovery gives us three new letters, 0, u and
g, represented by | ? and 3.
"Looking now, narrowly, through the cipher for
combinations of known characters, we find, not very
far from the beginning, this arrangement,
83(88, or egree,
which, plainly, is the conclusion of the word ' degree,'
and gives us another letter, d, represented by f.
"Four letters beyond the word 'degree,' we per-
ceive the combination .,; | is 1 ' V
;46(;88*.
"Translating the known characters, and represent-
ing the unknown by dots, as before, we read thus:
th.rtee.
an arrangement immediately suggestive of the word
'thirteen,' and again furnishing us with two new
characters, i and n, represented by 6 and *.
"Referring, now, to the beginning of the crypto-
graph, we find the combination,
53Ut-
"Translating, as before, we obtain
.good,


136 TALES.
which assures us that the first letter is A, and that the
first two words are 'A good.'
"To avoid confusion, it is now time that we ar-
range our key, as far as discovered, in a tabular form.
It will stand thus:
5 represents a
t " d
8 " e
3
'<
g
4
it
h
6
tt
i
*
11
n
t
tt
0
(
t f
r
; " t
"We have, therefore, no less than ten of the most
important letters represented, and it will be unneces-
sary to proceed with the details of the solution. I
have said enough to convince you that ciphers of this
nature are readily soluble, and to give you some insight
into the rationale of their development. But be as-
sured that the specimen before us appertains to the very
simplest species of cryptograph. It now only remains
to give you the full translation of the characters upon
the parchment, as unriddled. Here it is:
'A good glass in the bishop's hostel in the devil's seat
twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes northeast and by
north main branch seventh limb east side shoot from the
left eye of the death's-bead 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 1
meaning from all this jargon about 'devil's seats,'
'death's-heads,' and 'bishop's hotels?'"


THE GOLD-BUG. 137
"I confess," replied Legrand, "that the matter
still wears a serious aspect, when regarded with a
casual glance. My first endeavor was to divide the
sentence into the natural division intended by the
cryptographist."
"You mean, to punctuate it?"
"Something of that kind."
"But how was it possible to effect this?"
"I reflected that it had been a point with the writer
to run his words together without division, so as to in-
crease the difficulty of solution. Now, a not over-
acute man, in pursuing such an object, would be
nearly certain to overdo the matter. When, in the
course of his composition, he arrived 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
this place, more than usually close together. If you
will observe the MS., in the present instance, you will
easily detect five such cases of unusual crowding. Act-
ing on this hint, I made the division thus:
'A good glass in the Bishop's bostclin the Devil's seat
— twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes — northeast
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; during which I made diligent in-
quiry, in the neighborhood of Sullivan's Island, for
any building which went by the name of the 'Bishop's
Hotel;' for, of course, I dropped the obsolete word
'hostel.' Gaining no information on the subject, I
was on the point of extending my sphere of search,


138 TALES.
and proceeding in a more systematic manner, when,
one morning, it entered into my head, quite suddenly,
that this ' Bishop's Hostel ' might have some reference
to an old family, of the name of Bessop, which, time
out of mind, had held possession of an ancient manor-
house, about four miles to the northward of the Island.
I accordingly went over to the plantation, and re-
instituted my inquiries among the older negroes of the
place. At length one of the most aged of the women
said that she had heard of such a 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, she consented to accompany me to
the spot. We found it without much difficulty, when,
dismissing her, I proceeded to examine the place.
The 'castle' consisted of an irregular assemblage of
cliffs and rocks — one of the latter being quite remark-
able for its height as well as for its insulated and artifi-
cial appearance. I clambered to its apex, and then
felt much at a loss as to what should be next done.
"While I was busied in reflection, my eyes fell
upon a narrow ledge in the eastern face of the rock,
perhaps a yard below the summit on which I stood.
This ledge projected about eighteen inches, and was
not more than a foot wide, while a niche in the cliff
just above it, gave it a rude resemblance to one of the
hollow-backed chairs used by our ancestors. I made
no doubt that here was the 'devil 's-seat' alluded to in
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 a telescope; for the word 'glass' is


THE GOLD-BUG. 139
rarely employed in any other sense by seamen. Now
here, I at once saw, was a telescope to be used, and a
definite point of view, admitting no variation, from
which to use it. Nor did I hesitate to believe that the
phrases, 'twenty -one degrees and thirteen minutes,'
and ' northeast and by north,' were intended as direc-
tions for the levelling of the glass. Greatly excited by
these discoveries, I hurried home, procured a telescope,
and returned to the rock.
"I let myself down to the ledge, and found that it
was impossible to retain a seat on it unless in one par-
ticular position. This fact confirmed my preconceived
idea. I proceeded to use the glass. Of course, the
'twenty-one degrees and thirteen minutes ' could allude
to nothing but elevation above the visible horizon, since
the horizontal direction was clearly indicated by the
words, 'northeast and by north.' This latter direction
I at once established by means of a pocket-compass;
then, pointing the glass as nearly at an angle of
twenty-one degrees of elevation as I could do it by
guess, I moved it cautiously up or down, until my at-
tention was arrested by a circular rift or opening in the
foliage of a large tree that overtopped its fellows in the
distance. In the centre of this rift I perceived a white
spot, but could not, at first, distinguish what it was.
Adjusting the focus of the telescope, I again looked,
and now made it out to be a human skull.
"On this discovery I was so sanguine as to consider
the enigma solved; for the phrase 'main branch,
seventh limb, east side,' could refer only to the position
of the skull on the tree, while ' shoot from the left eye
of the death's-head' admitted, also, of but one in-
terpretation, in regard to a search for buried treasure.
I perceived that the design was to drop a bullet from


14O TALES.
the left eye of the skull, and that a bee-line, or, in
other words, a straight line, drawn from the nearest
point of the trunk through 'the shot,' (or the spot
where the bullet fell,) and thence extended to a dis-
tance of fifty feet, would indicate 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 turned homewards. The instant that I left
'the devil's seat,' however, the circular rift vanished;
nor could I get a glimpse of it afterwards, turn as I
would. What seems to me the chief ingenuity in this
whole business, is the fact (for repeated experiment has
convinced me it /'/ a fact) that the circular opening in
question is visible from no other attainable point of view
than that afforded by the narrow ledge on the face of
the rock.
"In this expedition to the 'Bishop's Hotel' I had
been attended by Jupiter, who had, no doubt, observed,
for some weeks past, the abstraction of my demeanor,
and took especial care not to leave me alone. But, on
the 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 found it. 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 as myself."
"I suppose," said I, "you missed the spot, in the
first attempt at digging, through Jupiter's stupidity in
letting the bug fall through the right instead of through
the left eye of the skull."


THE GOLD-BUG. 141
"Precisely. This mistake made a difference of
about two inches and a half in the ' shot' —- that is to
say, in the position of the peg nearest the tree; and
had the treasure been beneath the 'shot,' the error
would have been of little moment; but 'the shot,'
together with the nearest point of the tree, were merely
two points for the establishment of a line of direction;
of course the error, however trivial in the beginning,
increased as we proceeded with the line, and by the
time we had gone fifty feet, threw us quite off the
scent. But for my deep-seated convictions 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 through the skull's eye — was suggested to Kidd
by the piratical flag. No doubt he felt a kind of
poetical consistency in recovering his money through
this ominous insignium."
"Perhaps so; still I cannot help thinking that com-
mon-sense had quite as much to do with the matter as
poetical consistency. To be visible from the devil's-
seat, it was necessary that the object, if small, should
be white; and there is nothing like your human skull
for retaining and even increasing its whiteness under
exposure to all vicissitudes of weather."
"But your grandiloquence, and your conduct in
swinging the beetle — how excessively odd! I was
sure you were mad. And why did you insist on letting
fall the bug, instead of a bullet, from the skull?"
"Why, to be frank, I felt somewhat annoyed by
your evident suspicions touching my sanity, and so re-
solved to punish you quietly, in my own way, by a
little bit of sober mystification. For this reason I
swung the beetle, and for this reason I let it fall from


142 TALES.
the tree. An observation of yours about its great
weight suggested the latter idea."
"Yes, I perceive; and now there is only one point
which puzzles me. What are we to make of the
skeletons found in the hole?"
"That is a question I am no more able to answer
than yourself. There seems, however, only one
plausible way of accounting for them — and yet it is
dreadful to believe in such atrocity as my suggestion
would imply. It is clear that Kidd — if Kidd indeed
secreted this treasure, which I doubt not — it is clear
that he must have had assistance in the labor. But,
the worst of this labor concluded, he may have thought
it expedient to remove all participants in his secret.
Perhaps a couple of blows with a mattock were suffi-
cient, while his coadjutors were busy in the pit; perhaps
it required a dozen — who shall tell?"


THE BLACK CAT.
[The Philadelphia United States Saturday Post, August 19, 1843;
1X45.]
For the most wild, yet most homely narrative which
I am about to pen, I neither expect nor solicit belief.
Mad indeed would I be to expect it, in a case where
my very senses reject their own evidence. Yet, mad
am I not — and very surely do I not dream. But to-
morrow I die, and to-day I would unburthen my soul.
My immediate purpose is to place before the world,
plainly, succinctly, and without comment, a series of
mere household events. In their consequences, these
events have terrified — have tortured — have destroyed
me. Yet I will not attempt to expound them. To
me, they have presented little but Horror — to many
they will seem less terrible than baroques. Hereafter,
perhaps, some intellect may be found which will reduce
my phantasm to the common-place — some intellect
more calm, more logical, and far less excitable than
my own, which will perceive, in the circumstances I
detail with awe, nothing more than an ordinary succes-
sion of very natural causes and effects.
From my infancy I was noted for the docility and
humanity of my disposition. My tenderness of heart
was even so conspicuous as to make me the jest of my
companions. I was especially fond of animals, and
was indulged by my parents with a great variety of
(H3)


144 TALES.
pets. With these I spent most of my time, and never
was so happy as when feeding and caressing them.
This peculiarity of character grew with my growth,
and, in my manhood, I derived from it one of my
principal sources of pleasure. To those who have
cherished an affection for a faithful and sagacious dog,
I need hardly be at the trouble of explaining the nature
or the intensity of the gratification thus derivable. There
is something in the unselfish and self-sacrificing love of
a brute, which goes directly to the heart of him who
has had frequent occasion to test the paltry friendship
and gossamer fidelity of mere Man.
I married early, and was happy to find in my wife
a disposition not uncongenial with my own. Observ-
ing my partiality for domestic pets, she lost no oppor-
tunity of procuring those of the most agreeable kind.
We had birds, gold fish, a fine dog, rabbits, a small
monkey, and a cat.
This latter was a remarkably large and beautiful ani-
mal, entirely black, and sagacious to an astonishing
degree. In speaking of his intelligence, my wife, who
at heart was not a little tinctured with superstition,
made frequent allusion to the ancient popular notion,
which regarded all black cats as witches in disguise.
Not that she was ever serious upon this point — and I
mention the matter at all for no better reason than that
it happens, just now, to be remembered.
Pluto — this was the cat's name — was my favorite
pet and playmate. I alone fed him, and he attended
me wherever I went about the house. It was even
with difficulty that I could prevent him from following
me through the streets.
Our friendship lasted, in this manner, for sereral
years, during which my general temperament and char-


The Black Cat.
Drawn br A/o'er.











THE BLACK CAT. 14$
acter — through the instrumentality of the Fiend Intem-
perance— had (I blush to confess it) experienced a
radical alteration for the worse. I grew, day by day,
more moody, more irritable, more regardless of the
feelings of others. I suffered myself to use intem-
perate language to my wife. At length, I even offered
her personal violence. My pets, of course, were made
to feel the change in my disposition. I not only
neglected, but ill-used them. For Pluto, however, I
still retained sufficient regard to restrain me from mal-
treating him, as I made no scruple of maltreating the
rabbits, the monkey, or even the dog, when by acci-
dent, or through affection, they came in my way. But
my disease grew upon me — for what disease is like
Alcohol ! — and at length even Pluto, who was now
becoming old, and consequently somewhat peevish —
even Pluto began to experience the effects of my ill
temper.
One night, returning home, much intoxicated, from
one of my haunts about town, I fancied that the cat
avoided my presence. I seized him; when, in his
fright at my violence, he inflicted a slight wound upon
my hand with his teeth. The fury of a demon in-
stantly possessed me. I knew myself no longer. My
original soul seemed, at once, to take its flight from
my body; and a more than fiendish malevolence, gin-
nurtured, thrilled every fibre of my frame. I took
from my waistcoat-pocket a pen-knife, opened it,
grasped the poor beast by the throat, and deliberately
cut one of its eyes from the socket! I blush, I burn,
I shudder, while I pen the damnable atrocity.
When reason returned with the morning — when I
had slept off the fumes of the night's debauch — I expe-
rienced a sentiment half of horror, half of remorse, for
Vol. V. —10


146 TALES.
the crime of which I had been guilty ; but it was, at
best, a feeble and equivocal feeling, and the soul remained
untouched. I again plunged into excess, and soon
drowned in wine all memory of the deed.
In the meantime the cat slowly recovered. The
socket of the lost eye presented, it is true, a frightful
appearance, but he no longer appeared to suffer any
pain. He went about the house as usual, but, as
might be expected, fled in extreme terror at mv ap-
proach. I had so much of my old heart left, as to be
at first grieved by this evident dislike on the part of
a creature which had once so loved me. But this
feeling soon gave place to irritation. And then came,
as if to my final and irrevocable overthrow, the spirit
of Perverseness. Of this spirit philosophy takes no
account. Yet I am not more sure that my soul lives,
than I am that perverseness is one of the primitive im-
pulses of the human heart — one of the indivisible
primary faculties, or sentiments, which give direction
to the character of Man. Who has not, a hundred
times, found himself committing a vile or a silly action,
for no other reason than because he knows he should
not? Have we not a perpetual inclination, in the
teeth of our best judgment, to violate that which is
/,.;;;-, merely because we understand it to be such?
This spirit of perverseness, I say, came to my final over-
throw. It was this unfathomable longing of the soul
to vex itself— to offer violence to its own nature — to
do wrong for the wrong's sake only — that urged me
to continue and finally to consummate the injury I had
inflicted upon the unoffending brute. One morning,
in cool blood, I slipped a noose about its neck and
hung it to the limb of a tree ; — hung it with the tears
streaming from my eyes, and with the bitterest remorse


THE BLACK CAT. 147
at my heart ; — hung it because I knew that it had
loved me, and because I felt it had given me no reason of
offence ; — hung it because I knew that in so doing I
was committing a sin — a deadly sin that would so
jeopardize my immortal soul as to place it — if such a
thing were possible — even beyond the reach of the
infinite mercy of the Most Merciful and Most Terri-
ble God.
On the night of the day on which this cruel deed
was done, I was aroused from sleep by the cry of fire.
The curtains of my bed were in flames. The whole
house was blazing. It was with great difficulty that
my wife, a servant, and myself, made our escape from
the conflagration. The destruction was complete. My
entire worldly wealth was swallowed up, and I re-
signed myself thenceforward to despair.
I am above the weakness of seeking to establish a
sequence of cause and effect, between the disaster and
the atrocity. But I am detailing a chain of facts —
and wish not to leave even a possible link imperfect.
On the day succeeding the fire, I visited the ruins.
The walls, with one exception, had fallen in. This
exception was found in a compartment wall, not very
thick, which stood about the middle of the house, and
against which had rested the head of my bed. The
plastering had here, in great measure, resisted the
action of the fire — a fact which I attributed to its
having been recently spread. About this wall a dense
crowd were collected, and many persons seemed to be
examining a particular portion of it with very minute
and eager attention. The words " strange!" "sin-
gular!" and other similar expressions, excited my
curiosity. I approached and saw, as if graven in bas
relief upon the white surface, the figure of a gigantic


148 TALES.
cat. The impression was given with an accuracy
truly marvellous. There was a rope about the ani-
mal's neck.
When I first beheld this apparition — for I could
scarcely regard it as less — my wonder and my terror
were extreme. But at length reflection came to my
aid. The cat, I remembered, had been hung in a
garden adjacent to the house. Upon the alarm of
fire, this garden had been immediately filled by the
crowd — by some one of whom the animal must have
been cut from the tree and thrown, through an open
window, into my chamber. This had probably been
done with the view of arousing me from sleep. The
falling of other walls had compressed the victim of my
cruelty into the substance of the freshly-spread plaster;
the lime of which, with the flames, and the ammonia
from the carcass, had then accomplished the portraiture
as I saw it.
Although I thus readily accounted to my reason, if
not altogether to my conscience, for the startling fact
jnst detailed, it did not the less fail to make a deep im-
pression upon my fancy. For months I could not rid
myself of the phantasm of the cat; and, during this
period, there came back into my spirit a half-sentiment
that seemed, but was not, remorse. I went so far as
to regret the loss of the animal, and to look about me,
among the vile haunts which I now habitually fre-
quented, for another pet of the same species, and of
somewhat similar appearance, with which to supply its
place.
One night as I sat, half stupificd, in a den of more
than infamy, my attention was suddenly drawn to some
black object, reposing upon the head of one of the
immense hogsheads of Gin, or of Rum, which consti-


THE BLACK CAT. 149
tuted the chief furniture of the apartment. I had
been looking steadily at the top of this hogshead for
some minutes, and what now caused me surprise was
the fact that I had not sooner perceived the object
thereupon. I approached it, and touched it with my
hand. It was a black cat — a very large one — fully
as large as Pluto, and closely resembling him in every
respect but one. Pluto had not a white hair upon any
portion of his body ; but this cat had a large, although
indefinite splotch of white, covering nearly the whole
region of the breast.
Upon my touching him, he immediately arose,
purred loudly, rubbed against my hand, and appeared
delighted with my notice. This, then, was the very
creature of which I was in search. I at once offered
to purchase it of the landlord; but this person made
no claim to it — knew nothing of it — had never seen
it before.
I continued my caresses, and, when I prepared to
go home, the animal evinced a disposition to accom-
pany me. I permitted it to do so; occasionally
stooping and patting it as I proceeded. When it
reached the house it domesticated itself at once, and
became immediately a great favorite with my wife.
For my own part, I soon found a dislike to it arising
within me. This was just the reverse of what I had
anticipated ; but I know not how or why it was —
its evident fondness for myself rather disgusted and
annoyed. By slow degrees, these feelings of disgust
and annoyance rose into the bitterness of hatred. I
avoided the creature ; a certain sense of shame, and the
remembrance of my former deed of cruelty, prevent-
ing me from physically abusing it. I did not, for
some weeks, strike, or otherwise violently ill use it;


1," o TALES.
but gradually — very gradually — I came to look upon
it with unutterable loathing, and to flee silently from
its odious presence, as from the breath of a pestilence.
What added, no doubt, to my hatred of the beast,
was the discovery, on the morning after I brought it
home, that, like Pluto, it also had been deprived of
one of its eyes. This circumstance, however, only
endeared it to my wife, who, as I have already said,
possessed, in a high degree, that humanity of feeling
which had once been my distinguishing trait, and the
source of many of my simplest and purest pleasures.
With my aversion to this cat, however, its partiality
for myself seemed to increase. It followed my foot-
steps with a pertinacity which it would be difficult to
make the reader comprehend. Whenever I sat, it
would crouch beneath my chair, or spring upon my
knees, covering me with its loathsome caresses. If I
arose to walk it would get between my feet and thus
nearly throw me down, or, fastening its long and sharp
claws in my dress, clamber, in this manner, to my
breast. At such times, although I longed to destroy
it with a blow, I was yet withheld from so doing,
partly by a memory of my former crime, but chiefly —
let me confess it at once — by absolute dread of the
beast.
This dread was not exactly a dread of physical evil
— and yet I should be at a loss how otherwise to
define it. I am almost ashamed to own — yes, even
in this felon's cell, I am almost ashamed to own —
that the terror and horror with which the animal in-
spired me, had been heightened by one of the merest
chimsras it would be possible to conceive. My wife
had called my attention, more than once, to the char-
acter of the mark of white hair, of which I have


THE BLACK CAT. 151
spoken, and which constituted the sole visible difference
between the strange beast and the one I had destroyed.
The reader will remember that this mark, al-
though large, had been originally very indefinite ; but,
by slow degrees — degrees nearly imperceptible, and
which for a long time my Reason struggled to reject as
fanciful — it had, at length, assumed a rigorous dis-
tinctness of outline. It was now the representation
of an object that I shudder to name — and for this,
above all, I loathed, and dreaded, and would have rid
myself of the monster had I dared— it was now, I
say, the image of a hideous — of a ghastly thing — of
the Gallows ! — oh, mournful and terrible engine of
Horror and of Crime — of Agony and of Death!
And now was I indeed wretched beyond the wretch-
edness of mere Humanity. And a brute beast —
whose fellow I had contemptuously destroyed — a
brute beast to work out for me — for me a man, fash-
ioned in the image of the High God — so much of in-
sufferable wo! Alas! neither by day nor by night
knew I the blessing of Rest any more! During the
former the creature left me no moment alone; and,
in the latter, I started, hourly, from dreams of unut-
terable fear, to find the hot breath of the thing upon
my face, and its vast weight — an incarnate Night-
Mare that I had no power to shake off—incumbent
eternally upon my heart!
Beneath the pressure of torments such as these, the
feeble remnant of the good within me succumbed.
Evil thoughts became my sole intimates — the darkest
and most evil of thoughts. The moodiness of my
usual temper increased to hatred of all things and of
all mankind; while, from the sudden, frequent, and
ungovernable outbursts of a fury to which I now


1 $2 TALES.
blindly abandoned myself, my uncomplaining wife, alas!
was the most usual and the most patient of sufferers.
One day she accompanied me, upon some household
errand, into the cellar of the old building which our
poverty compelled us to inhabit. The cat followed
me down the steep stairs, and, nearly throwing me
headlong, exasperated me to madness. Uplifting an
axe, and forgetting, in my wrath, the childish dread
which had hitherto stayed my hand, I aimed a blow
at the animal which, of course, would have proved in-
stantly fatal had it descended as I wished. But this
blow was arrested by the hand of my wife. Goaded,
by the interference, into a rage more than demoniacal,
I withdrew my arm from her grasp and buried the axe
in her brain. She fell dead upon the spot, without a
groan.
This hideous murder accomplished, I set myself
forthwith, and with entire deliberation, to the task of
concealing the body. I knew that I could not remove
it from the house, either by day or by night, without
the risk of being observed by the neighbors. Many
projects entered my mind. At one period I thought
of cutting the corpse into minute fragments, and de-
stroying them by fire. At another, I resolved to dig a
grave for it in the floor of the cellar. Again, I delib-
erated about casting it in the well in the yard — about
packing it in a box, as if merchandize, with the usual
arrangements, and so getting a porter to take it from
the house. Finally I hit upon what I considered a far
better expedient than either of these. I determined to
wall it up in the cellar — as the monks of the middle
ages are recorded to have walled up their victims.
For a purpose such as this the cellar was well
adapted. Its walls were loosely constructed, and had


THE BLACK CAT. 153
lately been plastered throughout with a rough plaster,
which the dampness of the atmosphere had prevented
from hardening. Moreover, in one of the walls was
a projection, caused by a false chimney, or fireplace,
that had been filled up, and made to resemble the rest
of the cellar. I made no doubt that 1 could readily
displace the bricks at this point, insert the corpse, and
wall the whole up as before, so that no eye could de-
tect anything suspicious.
And in this calculation I was not deceived. By
means of a crow-bar J easily dislodged the bricks, and,
having carefully deposited the body against the inner
wall, I propped it in that position, while, with little
trouble, I re-laid the whole structure as it originally
stood. Having procured mortar, sand, and hair, with
every possible precaution, I prepared a plaster which
could not be distinguished from the old, and with this
I very carefully went over the new brick-work.
When I had finished, I felt satisfied that all was right.
The wall did not present the slightest appearance of
having been disturbed. The rubbish on the floor was
picked up with the minutest care. I looked around
triumphantly, and said to myself—" Here at least,
then, my labor has not been in vain."
My next step was to look for the beast which had
been the cause of so much wretchedness; for I had,
at length, firmly resolved to put it to death. Had I
been able to meet with it, at the moment, there could
have been no doubt of its fate; but it appeared that the
crafty animal had been alarmed at the violence of my
previous anger, and forebore to present itself in my
present mood. It is impossible to describe, or to im-
agine, the deep, the blissful sense of relief which the
absence of the detested creature occasioned in my


154 TALES.
bosom. It did not make its appearance during the
night — and thus for one night at least, since its intro-
duction into the house, I soundly and tranquilly slept;
aye, slept even with the burden of murder upon my
soul!
The second and the third day passed, and still my
tormentor came not. Once again I breathed as a free-
man. The monster, in terror, had fled the premises
forever! I should behold it no more! My happi-
ness was supreme! The guilt of my dark deed dis-
turbed me but little. Some few inquiries had been
made, but these had been readily answered. Even a
search had been instituted — but of course nothing
was to be discovered. I looked upon my future
felicity as secured.
Upon the fourth day of the assassination, a party of
the police came, very unexpectedly, into the house,
and proceeded again to make rigorous investigation of
the premises. Secure, however, in the inscrutability
of my place of concealment, I felt no embarrassment
whatever. The officers bade me accompany them in
their search. They left no nook or corner unexplored.
At length, for the third or fourth time, they descended
into the cellar. I quivered not in a muscle. My
heart beat calmly as that of one who slumbers in
innocence. I walked the cellar from end to end. I
folded my arms upon my bosom, and roamed easily
to and fro. The police were thoroughly satisfied and
prepared to depart. The glee at my heart was too
strong to be restrained. I burned to say if but one
word, by way of triumph, and to render doubly sure
their assurance of my guiltlessness.
"Gentlemen," I said at last, as the party ascended
the steps, "I delight to have allayed your suspicions.


THE BLACK CAT. 155
I with you all health, and a little more courtesy. By
the bye, gentlemen, this — this is a very well con-
structed house." [In the rabid desire to say some-
thing easily, I scarcely knew what I uttered at all.'] —
"I may say an excellently well constructed house.
These walls — are you going, gentlemen ? — these
walls are solidly put together ; '' and here, through
the mere phrenzy of bravado, I rapped heavily, with
a cane which I held in my hand, upon that very por-
tion of the brick-work behind which stood the corpse
of the wife of my bosom.
But may God shield and deliver me from the tangs
of the Arch-Fiend! No sooner had the reverberation of
my blows sunk into silence, than I was answered by
a voice from within the tomb ! — by a cry, at first
muffled and broken, like the sobbing of a child, and
then quickly swelling into one long, loud, and con-
tinuous scream, utterly anomalous and inhuman — a
howl — a wailing shriek, half of horror and half of
triumph, such as might have arisen only out of hell,
conjointly from the throats of the damned in their
agony and of the demons that exult in the damnation.
Of my own thoughts it is folly to speak. Swoon-
ing, I staggered to the opposite wall. For one instant
the party upon the stairs remained motionless, through
extremity of terror and of awe. In the next, a dozen
stout arms were toiling at the wall. It fell bodily.
The corpse, already greatly decayed and clotted with
gore, stood erect before the eyes of the spectators.
Upon its head, with red extended mouth and solitary
eye of fire, sat the hideous beast whose craft had
seduced me into murder, and whose informing voice
had consigned me to the hangman. I had walled the
monster up within the tomb!


THE ELK.
[morning on the wissahiccon.]
[Tie Opal, 1844.]
The natural scenery of America has often been
contrasted, in its general features as well as in detail,
with the landscape of the Old World — more espe-
cially of Europe — and not deeper has been the
enthusiasm, than wide the dissension, of the support-
ers of each region. The discussion is one not hkely
to be soon closed, for, although much has been said
on both sides, a word more yet remains to be said.
The most conspicuous of the British tourists who
have attempted a comparison, seem to regard our
northern and eastern seaboard, comparatively speak-
ing, as all of America, at least, as all of the United
States, worthy consideration. They say little, because
they have seen less, of the gorgeous interior scenery
of some of our western and southern districts — of the
vast valley of Louisiana, for example, — a realization
of the wildest dreams of paradise. For the most part,
these travellers content themselves with a hasty inspec-
tion of the natural lions of the land — the Hudson,
Niagara, the Catskills, Harper's Ferry, the lakes of
New York, the Ohio, the prairies, and the Missis-
OS*)


THE ELK. 157
•ippi. These, indeed, are objects well worthy the
contemplation even of him who has just clambered by
the castellated Rhine, or roamed
By the blue rushing of the arrowy Rhone;
but these are not all of which we can boast; and,
indeed, I will be so hardy as to assert that there are
innumerable quiet, obscure, and scarcely explored
nooks, within the limits of the United States, that,
by the true artist, or cultivated lover of the grand and
beautiful amid the works of God, will be preferred to
each and to allot the chronicled and better accredited
scenes to which I have referred.
In fact, the real Edens of the land lie far away
from the track of our own most deliberate tourists —
how very far, then, beyond the reach of the foreigner,
who, having made with his publisher at home arrange-
ments for a certain amount of comment upon America,
to be furnished in a stipulated period, can hope to
fulfil his agreement in no other manner than by steam-
ing it, memorandum-book in hand, through only the
most beaten thoroughfares of the country!
I mentioned, just above, the valley of Louisiana.
Of all extensive areas of natural loveliness, this is
perhaps the most lovely. No fiction has approached
it. The most gorgeous imagination might derive sug-
gestions from its exuberant beauty. And beauty is,
indeed, its sole character. It has little, or rather
nothing, of the sublime. Gentle undulations of soil,
interwreathed with fantastic crystallic streams, banked
by flowery slopes, and backed by a. forest vegetation,
gigantic, glossy, multicoloured, sparkling with gay
birds and burthened with perfume — these features


158 TALES.
nuke up, in the vale of Louisiana, the most voluptuous
natural scenery upon earth.
But, even of this delicious region, the sweeter portions
are reached only by bypaths. Indeed, in America
generally, the traveller who would behold the finest
landscapes, must seek them not by the railroad, nor
by the steamboat, nor by the stage-coach, nor in his
private carriage, nor yet even on horseback—but on foot.
He must walk, he must leap ravines, he must risk his
neck among precipices, or he must leave unseen the truest,
the richest, and most unspeakable glories of the land.
Now in the greater portion of Europe no such neces-
sity exists. In England it exists not at all. The
merest dandy of a tourist may there visit every nook
worth visiting without detriment to his silk stockings;
so thoroughly known are all points of interest, and so
well-arranged are the means of attaining them. This
consideration has never been allowed its due weight,
in comparisons of the natural scenery of the Old and
New Worlds. The entire loveliness of the former is
collated with only the most noted, and with by no
means the most eminent items in the general loveli-
ness of the latter.
River scenery has, unquestionably, within itself, all
the main elements of beauty, and, time out of mind,
has been the favourite theme of the poet. But much
of this fame is attributable to the predominance of travel
in fluvial over that in mountainous districts. In the
same way, large rivers, because usually highways, have,
in all countries, absorbed an undue share of admiration.
They are more observed, and, consequently, made more
the subject of discourse, than less important, but often
more interesting streams.
A singular exemplification of my remarks upon this


THE ELK. 159
head may be found in the Wissahiccon, a brook, (for
more it can scarcely be called,) which empties itself
into the Schuylkill, about six miles westward of Phila-
delphia. Now the Wissahiccon is of so remarkable a
loveliness that, were it flowing in England, it would
be the theme of every bard, and the common topic of
every tongue, if, indeed, its banks were not parcelled
off in lots, at an exorbitant price, as building-sites for
the villas of the opulent. Yet it is only within a very
few years that any one has more than heard of the
Wissahiccon, while the broader and more navigable
water into which it flows, has been long celebrated as
one of the finest specimens of American river scenery.
The Schuylkill, whose beauties have been much ex-
aggerated, and whose banks, at least in the neighbor-
hood of Philadelphia, are marshy like those of the
Delaware, is not at all comparable, as an object of
picturesque interest, with the more humble and less
notorious rivulet of which we speak.
It was not until Fanny Kemble, in her droll book 2
about the United States, pointed out to the Phila-
delphians the rare loveliness of a stream which lay at
their own doors, that this loveliness was more than
suspected by a few adventurous pedestrians of the
vicinity. But, the "Journal " having opened all eyes,
the Wissahiccon, to a certain extent, rolled at once into
notoriety. I say " to a certain extent," for, in fact, the
true beauty of the stream lies far above the route of the
Philadelphian picturesque-hunters, who rarely proceed
farther than a mile or two above the mouth of the rivulet
— for the very excellent reason that here the carriage-
road stops. I would advise the adventurer who would
behold its finest points to take the Ridge Road, running
J See Poe'i review in Vol. VIII.— Ed.


160 TALES.
westward];/ from the city, and, having reached the
second lane beyond the sixth mile-stone, to follow this
lane to its termination. He will thus strike the Wissa-
hiccon, at one of its best reaches, and, in a skiff, or
by clambering along its banks, he can go up or down
the stream, as best suits his fancy, and in either direc-
tion will meet his reward.
I have already said, or should have said, that the
brook is narrow. Its banks are generally, indeed
almost universally, precipitous, and consist of high
hills, clothed with noble shrubbery near the water, and
crowned at a greater elevation, with some of the most
magnificent forest trees of America, among which
stands conspicuous the liriodendron tulipiferum. The
immediate shores, however, are of granite, sharply-
defined or moss-covered, against which the pel-
lucid water lolls in its gentle flow, as the blue waves
of the Mediterranean upon the steps of her palaces of
marble. Occasionally in front of the cliffs, extends a
small definite plateau of richly herbaged land, afford-
ing the most picturesque position for a cottage and
garden which the richest imagination could conceive.
The windings of the stream are many and abrupt, as
is usually the case where banks are precipitous, and
thus the impression conveyed to the voyager's eye, as
he proceeds, is that of an endless succession of in-
finitely varied small lakes, or, more properly speaking,
tarns. The Wissahiccon, however, should be visited,
not like "fair Melrose," by moonlight, or even in
cloudy weather, but amid the brightest glare of a
noonday sun ; for the narrowness of the gorge through
which it flows, the height of the hills on either hand,
and the density of the foliage, conspire to produce a
gloominess, if not an absolute dreariness of effect,
i.


THE ELK. 161
which, unless relieved by a bright general light, detracts
from the mere beauty of the scene.
Not long ago I visited the stream by the route de-
scribed, and spent the better part of a sultry day in
floating in a skifF upon its bosom. The heat gradually
overcame me, and, resigning myself to the influence of
the scenes and of the weather, and of the gently
moving current, I sank into a half slumber, during
which my imagination revelled in visions of the Wissa-
hiccon of ancient days —of the " good old days " when
the Demon of the Engine was not, when pic-nics were
undreamed of, when "water privileges " were neither
bought nor sold, and when the red man trod alone,
with the elk, upon the ridges that now towered above.
And, while gradually these conceits took possession of
my mind, the lazy brook had borne me, inch by inch,
around one promontory and within full view of another
that bounded the prospect at the distance of forty or
fifty yards. It was a steep rocky cliff, abutting far
into the stream, and presenting much more of the
Salvator character than any portion of the shore
hitherto passed. What I saw upon this cliff, although
surely an object of very extraordinary nature, the place
and season considered, at first neither startled nor
amazed me — so thoroughly and appropriately did it
chime in with the half-slumberous fancies that en-
wrapped me. I saw, or dreamed that I saw, standing
upon the extreme verge of the precipice, with neck
outstretched, with ears erect, and the whole attitude
indicative of profound and melancholy inquisitiveness,
one of the oldest and boldest of those identical elks
which had been coupled with the red men of my
vision.
I say that, for a few moments, this apparition neither
Vol. V.—ii


162 TALES.
startled nor amazed me. During this interval my
whole soul was bound up in intense sympathy alone.
I fancied the elk repining, not less than wondering, at
the manifest alterations for the worse, wrought upon
the brook and its vicinage, even within the last few
years, by the stern hand of the utilitarian. But a
slight movement of the animal's head at once dispelled
the dreaminess which invested me, and aroused me to
a full sense of the novelty of the adventure. I arose
upon one knee within the skiff, and, while I hesitated
whether to stop my career, or let myself float nearer
to the object of my wonder, I heard the words
"hist!" "hist!" ejaculated quickly but cautiously,
from the shrubbery overhead. In an instant after-
wards, a negro emerged from the thicket, putting aside
the bushes with care, and treading stealthily. He
bore in one hand a quantity of salt, and, holding it
towards the elk, gently yet steadily approached. The
noble animal, although a little fluttered, made no
attempt at escape. The negro advanced; offered the
salt; and spoke a few words of encouragement or con-
ciliation. Presently, the elk bowed and stamped, and
then lay quietly down and was secured with a halter.
Thus ended my romance of the elk. It was a pel
of great age and very domestic habits, and belonged to
an English family occupying a villa in the vicinity.


A TALE OF THE RAGGED
MOUNTAINS.
[Godty'i Ladv'i Beak, April, 1844; Broadway Journal, II.,
During the fall of the year 1827, while residing
near Charlottesville, Virginia, I casually made the ac-
quaintance of Mr. Augustus Bedloe. This young
gentleman was remarkable in every respect, and ex-
cited in me a profound interest and curiosity. I found
it impossible to comprehend him either in his moral or
his physical relations. Of his family I could obtain
no satisfactory account. Whence he came, I never
ascertained. Even about his age — although I call
him a young gentleman — there was something which
perplexed me in no little degree. He certainly seemed
young — and he made a point of speaking about his
youth — yet there were moments when I should have
had little trouble in imagining him a hundred years of
age. But in no regard was he more peculiar than in
his personal appearance. He was singularly tall and
thin-. He stooped much. His limbs were exceed-
ingly long and emaciated. His forehead was broad
and low. His complexion was absolutely bloodless.
His mouth was large and flexible, and his teeth were
more wildly uneven, although sound, than I had ever
before seen teeth in a human head. The expression
of his smile, however, was by no means unpleasing,
(>*3)


164 TALES.
as might be supposed; but it had no variation what-
ever. It was one of profound melancholy — of a
phaseless and unceasing gloom. His eyes were abnor-
mally large, and round like those of a cat. The pupils,
too, upon any accession or diminution of light, under-
went contraction or dilation, just such as is observed
in the feline tribe. In moments of excitement the orbs
grew bright to a degree almost inconceivable; seeming to
emit luminous rays, not of a reflected, but of an intrinsic
lustre, as does a candle or the sun; yet their ordinary
condition was so totally vapid, filmy and dull, as to
convey the idea of the eyes of a long-interred corpse.
These peculiarities of person appeared to cause him
much annoyance, and he was continually alluding to
them in a sort of half explanatory, half apologetic
strain, which, when I first heard it, impressed me very
painfully. I soon, however, grew accustomed to it,
and my uneasiness wore off. It seemed to be his de-
sign rather to insinuate than directly to assert that,
physically, he had not always been what he was —
that a long series of neuralgic attacks had reduced him
from a condition of more than usual personal beauty, to
that which I saw. For many years past he had been
attended by a physician, named Templeton— an old
gentleman, perhaps seventy years of age — whom he
had first encountered at Saratoga, and from whose at-
tention, while there, he either received, or fancied
that he received, great benefit. The result was that
Bedloe, who was wealthy, had made an arrangement
with Doctor Templeton, by which the latter, in consid-
eration of a liberal annual allowance, had consented to
devote his time and medical experience exclusively to
the care of the invalid.
Doctor Templeton had been a traveller in his


THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS. 165
younger days, and, at Paris, had become a convert, in
great measure, to the doctrines of Mesmer. It was
altogether by means of magnetic remedies that he had
succeeded in alleviating the acute pains of his patient;
and this success had very naturally inspired the latter
with a certain degree of confidence in the opinions
from which the remedies had been educed. The
Doctor, however, like all enthusiasts, had struggled
hard to make a thorough convert of his pupil, and
finally so far gained his point as to induce the sufferer
to submit to numerous experiments. — By a frequent
repetition of these, a result had arisen, which of late
days has become so common as to attract little or no
attention, but which, at the period of which I write,
had very rarely been known in America. I mean to
say, that between Doctor Templeton and Bedloe there
had grown up, little by little, a very distinct and
strongly marked rapport, or magnetic relation. I am
not prepared to assert, however, that this rapport ex-
tended beyond the limits of the simple sleep-producing
power; but this power itself had attained great inten-
sity. At the first attempt to induce the magnetic som-
nolency, the mesmerist entirely failed. In the fifth or
sixth he succeeded very partially, and after long con-
tinued effort. Only at the twelfth was the triumph
complete. After this the will of the patient suc-
cumbed rapidly to- that of the physician, so that, when
I first became acquainted with the two, sleep was
brought about almost instantaneously, by the mere vo-
lition of the operator, even when the invalid was una-
ware of his presence. It is only now, in the year
1845, when similar miracles are witnessed daily by
thousands, that I dare venture to record this apparent
impossibility as a matter of serious fact.


166 TALES.
The temperament of Bedloe was, in the highest
degree, sensitive, excitable, enthusiastic. His imagi-
nation was singularly vigorous and creative; and no
doubt it derived additional force from the habitual use
of morphine, which he swallowed in great quantity,
and without which he would have found it impossible
to exist. It was his practice to take a very large dose
of it immediately after breakfast, each morning — or
rather immediately after a cup of strong coffee, for he
ate nothing in the forenoon — and then set forth alone,
or attended only by a dog, upon a long ramble among
the chain of wild and dreary hills that lie westward
and southward of Charlottesville, and are there dignified
by the title of the Ragged Mountains.
Upon a dim, warm, misty day, towards the close
of November, and during the strange interregnum of
the seasons which in America is termed the Indian
Summer Mr. Bedloe departed, as usual, for the hills.
The day passed, and still he did not return.
About eight o'clock at night, having become seri-
ously alarmed at his protracted absence, we were about
setting out in search of him, when he unexpectedly
made his appearance, in health no worse than usual,
and in rather more than ordinary spirits. The ac-
count which he gave of his expedition, and of the
events which had detained him, was a singular one
indeed.
"You will remember," said he, "that it was about
nine in the morning when I left Charlottesville. I
bent my steps immediately to the mountains, and,
about ten, entered a gorge which was entirely new to
me. I followed the windings of this pass with much
interest. — The scenery which presented itself on all
sides, although scarcely entitled to be called grand, had


THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS. 167
about it an indescribable, and to me, a delicious aspect
of dreary desolation. The solitude seemed absolutely
virgin. I could not help believing that the green sods
and the gray rocks upon which I trod, had been
trodden never before by the foot of a human being.
So entirely secluded, and in fact inaccessible, except
through a series of accidents, is the entrance of the
ravine, that it is by no means impossible that I was
indeed the first adventurer — the very first and sole
adventurer who had ever penetrated its recesses.
"The thick and peculiar mist, or smoke, which
distinguishes the Indian Summer, and which now hung
heavily over all objects, served, no doubt, to deepen
the vague impressions which these objects created. So
dense was this pleasant fog, that I could at no time
see more than a dozen yards of the path before me.
This path was excessively sinuous, and as the sun
could not be seen, J soon lost all idea of the direction
in which I journeyed. In the meantime the morphine
had its customary effect — that of enduing all the ex-
ternal world with an intensity of interest. In the
quivering of a leaf— in the hue of a blade of grass —
in the shape of a trefoil — in the humming of a bee —
in the gleaming of a dew-drop — in the breathing of
the wind — in the faint odors that came from the
forest — there came a whole universe of suggestion —
a gay and motly train of rhapsodical and immethodical
thought.
"Busied in this, I walked on for several hours, dur-
ing which the mist deepened around me to so great an
extent, that at length I was reduced to an absolute
groping of the way. And now an indescribable un-
easiness possessed me — a species of nervous hesitation
and tremor. — I feared to tread, lest I should be pre-


168 TALES.
cipitated into some abyss. I remembered, too, strange
stories told about these Ragged Hills, and of the un-
couth and fierce races of men who tenanted their
groves and caverns. A thousand vague fancies op-
pressed and disconcerted me — fancies the more dis-
tressing because vague. Very suddenly my attention
was arrested by the loud beating of a drum.
'' My amazement was, of course, extreme. A
drum in these hills was a thing unknown. I could
not have been more surprised at the sound of the
trump of the Archangel. But a new and still more
astounding source of interest and perplexity arose.
There came a wild rattling or jingling sound, as if of
a bunch of large keys — and upon the instant a dusky-
visaged and half-naked man rushed past me with a
shriek. He came so close to my person that I felt
his hot breath upon my face. He bore in one hand
an instrument composed of an assemblage of steel
rings, and shook them vigorously as he ran. Scarcely
had he disappeared in the mist, before, panting after
him, with open mouth and glaring eyes, there darted
a huge beast. I could not be mistaken in its char-
acter. It was a hyena.
"The sight of this monster rather relieved than
heightened my terrors — for I now made sure that I
dreamed, and endeavored to arouse myself to waking
consciousness. I stepped boldly and briskly forward.
I rubbed my eyes. I called aloud. I pinched my
limbs. A small spring of water presented itself to my
view, and here, stooping, I bathed my hands and my
head and neck. This seemed to dissipate the equivocal
sensations which had hitherto annoyed me. I arose, as
1 thought, a new man, and proceeded steadilv anj
complacently on my unknown way.


THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS. 169
"At length, quite overcome by exertion, and by a
certain oppressive closeness of the atmosphere, I seated
myself beneath a tree. Presently there came a feeble
gleam of sunshine, and the shadow of the leaves of
the tree fell faintly but definitely upon the grass. At
this shadow I gazed wonderingly for many minutes.
Its character stupified me with astonishment. I looked
upward. The tree was a palm.
"I now arose hurriedly, and in a state of fearful
agitation — for the fancy that I dreamed would serve
me no longer. I saw — I felt that I had perfect
command of my senses — and these senses now brought
to my soul a world of novel and singular sensation.
The heat became all at once intolerable. A strange
odor loaded the breeze.— A low continuous murmur,
like that arising from a full, but gently-flowing river,
came to my ears, intermingled with the peculiar hum
of multitudinous human voices.
"While I listened in an extremity of astonishment
which I need not attempt to describe, a strong and
brief gust of wind bore off the incumbent fog as if by
the wand of an enchanter.
"I found myself at the foot of a high mountain,
and looking down into a vast plain, through which
wound a majestic river. On the margin of this river
stood an Eastern-looking city, such as we read of in
the Arabian Tales, but of a character even more sin-
gular than any there described. From my position,
which was far above the level of the town, I could
perceive its every nook and corner, as if delineated on
a map. The streets seemed innumerable, and crossed
each other irregularly in all directions, but were rather
long winding alleys than streets, and absolutely swarmed
with inhabitants. The houses were wildly picturesque.


170 TALES.
On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of
verandahs, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically
carved oriels. Bazaars abounded; and in these were
displayed rich wares in infinite variety and profusion —
silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the most
magnificent jewels and gems. Besides these things,
were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins, litters
with stately dames close veiled, elephants gorgeously
caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners
and gongs, spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid
the crowd, and the clamor, and the general intricacy
and confusion — amid the million of black and yellow
men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing beard, there
roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls,
while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered,
chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the
mosques, or clung to the minarets and oriels. From
the swarming streets to the banks of the river, there
descended innumerable flights of steps leading to bath-
ing places, while the river itself seemed to force a
passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of deeply-
burthened ships that far and wide encumbered its
surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent
majestic groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other
gigantic and weird trees of vast age; and here and
there might be seen a field of rice, the thatched hut of
a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp, or a
solitary graceful maiden taking her'way, with a pitcher
upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent river.
"You will say now, of course, that I dreamed;
but not so. What I saw — what I heard — what I
felt — what I thought — had about it nothing of the
unmistakeable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was
rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was


THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS. 171
really awake, I entered into a series of tests, which
soon convinced me that I really was. Now, when
one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams,
the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper
is almost immediately aroused. — Thus Novalis errs not
in saying that ' we are near waking when we dream
that we dream.' Had the vision occurred to me as I
describe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then
a dream it might absolutely have been, but, occurring
as it did, and suspected and tested as it was, I am
forced to class it among other phenomena."
"In this I am not sure that you are wrong," ob-
served Dr. Templeton, "but proceed. You arose
and descended into the city."
"I arose," continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor
with an air of profound astonishment, "I arose, as you
say, and descended into the city. On my way, I fell
in with an immense populace, crowding, through every
avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting in
every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly,
and by some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely
imbued with personal interest in what was going on.
I seemed to feel that I had an important part to play,
without exactly understanding what it was. Against
the crowd which environed me, however, I experi-
enced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from
amid them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached
and entered the city. Here all was the wildest tumult
and contention. A small party of men, clad in gar-
ments half-Indian, half European, and officered by
gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged,
at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys.
I joined the weaker party, arming myself with the
weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not


17o TALES.
On every hand was a wilderness of balconies, of
verandahs, of minarets, of shrines, and fantastically
carved oriels. Bazaars abounded ; and in these were
displayed rich wares in infinite variety and profusion —
silks, muslins, the most dazzling cutlery, the most
magnificent jewels and gems. Besides these things,
were seen, on all sides, banners and palanquins, litters
with stately dames close veiled, elephants gorgeously
caparisoned, idols grotesquely hewn, drums, banners
and gongs, spears, silver and gilded maces. And amid
the crowd, and the clamor, and the general intricacy
and confusion — amid the million of black and yellow
men, turbaned and robed, and of flowing beard, there
roamed a countless multitude of holy filleted bulls,
while vast legions of the filthy but sacred ape clambered,
chattering and shrieking, about the cornices of the
mosques, or clung to the minarets and oriels. From
the swarming streets to the banks of the river, there
descended innumerable flights of steps leading to bath-
ing places, while the river itself seemed to force a
passage with difficulty through the vast fleets of deeply-
burthened ships that far and wide encumbered its
surface. Beyond the limits of the city arose, in frequent
majestic groups, the palm and the cocoa, with other
gigantic and weird trees of vast age ; and here and
“here might be seen a ficla of rice, the thatched hut of
a peasant, a tank, a stray temple, a gypsy camp, or a
solitary graceful maiden taking her way, with a pitcher
upon her head, to the banks of the magnificent river.
“You will say now, of course, that I dreamed ;
but not so. What I saw — what I heard — what I
felt — what I thought — had about it nothing of the
unmistakeable idiosyncrasy of the dream. All was
rigorously self-consistent. At first, doubting that I was


THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS. 171
really awake, I entered into a series of tests, which
soon convinced me that I really was. Now, when
one dreams, and, in the dream, suspects that he dreams,
the suspicion never fails to confirm itself, and the sleeper
is almost immediately aroused.—Thus Novalis errs not
in saying that “we are near waking when we dream
that we dream.’ Had the vision occurred to me as I
describe it, without my suspecting it as a dream, then
a dream it might absolutely have been, but, occurring
as it did, and suspected and tested as it was, I am
forced to class it among other phenomena.”
“In this I am not sure that you are wrong,” ob-
served Dr. Templeton, “but proceed. You arose
and descended into the city.”
“I arose,” continued Bedloe, regarding the Doctor
with an air of profound astonishment, “I arose, as you
say, and descended into the city. On my way, I fell
in with an immense populace, crowding, through every
avenue, all in the same direction, and exhibiting in
every action the wildest excitement. Very suddenly,
and by some inconceivable impulse, I became intensely
imbued with personal interest in what was going on.
I seemed to feel that I had an important part to play,
without exactly understanding what it was. Against
the crowd which environed me, however, I experi-
enced a deep sentiment of animosity. I shrank from
amid them, and, swiftly, by a circuitous path, reached
and entered the city. Here all was the wildest tumult
and contention. A small party of men, clad in gar-
ments half-Indian, half European, and officered by
gentlemen in a uniform partly British, were engaged,
at great odds, with the swarming rabble of the alleys.
I joined the weaker party, arming myself with the
weapons of a fallen officer, and fighting I knew not


172 TALES.
whom with the nervous ferocity of despair. We were
soon overpowered by numbers, and driven to seek
refuge in a species of kiosk. Here we barricaded our-
selves, and, for the present, were secure. From a
loop-hole near the summit of the kiosk, I perceived
a vast crowd, in furious agitation, surrounding and as-
saulting a gay palace that overhung the river. Presentl v,
from an upper window of this palace, there descended
an effeminate-looking person, by means of a string made
of the turbans of his attendants. A boat was at hand,
in which he escaped to the opposite bank of the river.
"And now a new object took possession of my soul.
I spoke a few hurried but energetic words to my com-
panions, and, having succeeded in gaining over a few
of them to my purpose, made a frantic sally from the
kiosk. We rushed amid the crowd that surrounded it.
They retreated, at first, before us. They rallied, fought
madly, and retreated again. In the mean time we were
borne far from the kiosk, and became bewildered and
entangled among the narrow streets of tall overhanging
houses, into the recesses of which the sun had never
been able to shine. The rabble pressed impetuously
upon us, harassing us with their spears, and overwhelm-
ing us with flights of arrows. These latter were very
remarkable, and resembled in some respects the writhing
creese of the Malay. They were made to imitate the
body of a creeping serpent, and were long and black,
with a poisoned barb. One of them struck me upon
the right temple. I reeled and fell. An instantane-
ous and dreadful sickness seized me. I struggled — I
gasped — I died.''
"You will hardly persist now," said I, smiling,
"that the whole of your adventure was not a dream.
You are not prepared to maintain that you are dead?"


THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS. 173
When I said these words, I of course expected
some lively sally from Bedloe in reply; but, to my
astonishment, he hesitated, trembled, became fearfully
pallid, and remained silent. I looked towards Tem-
pleton. He sat erect and rigid in his chair — his
teeth chattered, and his eyes were starring from their
sockets. '' Proceed!" he at length said hoarsely to
Bedloe.
"For many minutes," continued the latter, "my
sole sentiment — my sole feeling — was that of dark-
ness and nonentity, with the consciousness of death.
At length, there seemed to pass a violent and sudden
shock through my soul, as if of electricity. With it
came the sense of elasticity and of light. This latter
I felt — not saw. In an instant I seemed to rise from
the ground. But I had no bodily, no visible, audible,
or palpable presence. The crowd had departed. The
tumult had ceased. The city was in comparative re-
pose. Beneath me lay my corpse, with the arrow in
my temple, the whole head greatly swollen and dis-
figured. But all these things I felt — not saw. I took
interest in nothing. Even the corpse seemed a matter
in which I had no concern. Volition I had none, but
appeared to be impelled into motion, and flitted buoy-
antly out of the city, retracing the circuitous path by
which I had entered it. When I had attained that
point of the ravine in the mountains, at which I had
encountered the hyena, I again experienced a shock as
of a galvanic battery; the sense of weight, of volition,
of substance, returned. I became my original self,
and bent my steps eagerly homewards — but the past
had not lost the vividness of the real — and not now,
even for an instant, can I compel my understanding to
regard it as a dream."


174 TALES.
"Nor was it," said Templeton, with an air of deep
solemnity, "yet it would be difficult to say how other-
wise it should be termed. Let us suppose only, that
the soul of the man of to-day is upon the verge of
some stupendous psychal discoveries. Let us content
ourselves with this supposition. For the rest I have
some explanation to make. Here is a water-colour
drawing, which I should have shown you before, but
which an unaccountable sentiment of horror has hither-
to prevented me from showing."
We looked at the picture which he presented. I
saw nothing in it of an extraordinary character ; but its
effect upon Bedloe was prodigious. He nearly faintep
as he gazed. And yet it was but a miniature portrait
— a miraculously accurate one, to be sure — of his own
very remarkable features. At least this was my thought
as I regarded it.
"You will perceive," said Templeton, "the date
of this picture — it is here, scarcely visible, in this
corner— 1780. In this year was the portrait taken.
It is the likeness of a dead friend — a Mr. Oldeb — to
whom I became much attached at Calcutta, during the
administration of Warren Hastings. I was then only
twenty years old. — When I first saw you, Mr. Bed-
loe, at Saratoga, it was the miraculous similarity which
existed between yourself and the painting, which in-
duced me to accost you, to seek your friendship, and
to bring about those arrangements which resulted in my
becoming your constant companion. In accomplishing
this point, I was urged partly, and perhaps principally,
by a regretful memory of the deceased, but also, in
part, by an uneasy, and not altogether horrorless
curiosity respecting yourself.
"In your detail of the vision which presented itself


A Tale of the Ragged Mouyiain.v
Drawn by Wugei


--l- \l I








THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS. 175
to you amid the hills, you have described, with the
minutest accuracy, the Indian city of Benares, upon
the Holy River. The riots, the combats, the massacre,
were the actual events of the insurrection of Cheyte
Sing, which took place in 1780, when Hastings was
put in imminent peril of his life. The man escaping
by the string of turbans, was Cheyte Sing himself.
The party in the kiosk were sepoys and British officers,
headed by Hastings. Of this party I was one, and did
all I could to prevent the rash and fatai sally of the
officer who fell, in the crowded alleys, by the poisoned
arrow of a Bengalee. That officer was my dearest
friend. It was Oldeb. You will perceive by these
manuscripts," (here the speaker produced a note-book
in which several pages appeared to have been freshly
written) "that at the very period in which you fancied
these things amid the hills, I was engaged in detailing
them upon paper here at home."
In about a week after this conversation, the following
paragraphs appeared in a Charlottesville paper.
"We have the painful duty of announcing the death
of Mr. Augustus Bedlo, a gentleman whose amiable
manners and many virtues have long endeared him to
the citizens of Charlottesville.
"Mr. B., for some years past, has been subject
to neuralgia, which has often threatened to terminate
fatally; but this can be regarded only as the mediate
cause of his decease. The proximate cause was one
of especial singularity. In an excursion to the
Ragged Mountains, a few days since, a slight cold and
fever were contracted, attended with great determina-
tion of blood to the head. To relieve this, Dr.
Templeton resorted to topical bleeding. Leeches
were applied to the temples. In a fearfully brief


176 TALES.
period the patient died, when it appeared that, in the jar
containing the leeches, had been introduced, by
accident, one of the venomous vermicular sangsues
which are now and then found in the neighboring
ponds. This creature fastened itself upon a small artery
in the right temple. Its close resemblance to the
medicinal leech caused the mistake to be overlooked
until too late.
"N.B. The poisonous sangsue of Charlottesville
may always be distinguished from the medicinal leech
by its blackness, and especially by its writhing or
vermicular motions, which very nearly resemble those
of a snake."
I was speaking with the editor of the paper in ques-
tion, upon the topic of this remarkable accident, when
it occurred to me to ask how it happened that the
name of the deceased had been given as Bedlo.
"I presume," said I, "you have authority for this
spelling, but I have always supposed the name to be
written with an e at the end."
"Authority?—no," he replied. "It is a mere
typographical error. The name is Bedlo with an e,
all the world over, and I never knew it to be spelt
otherwise in my life."
"Then," said I mutteringly, as I turned upon my
heel, "then indeed has it come to pass that one truth
is stranger than any fiction — for Bedlo, without the t,
what is it but Oldeb conversed? And this man tells
me it is a typographical error."


THE SPECTACLES.
[Senile R. H. Heme, April, 1844; Broadway Journal, II., 20.]
Many years ago, it was the fashion to ridicule the
idea of "love at first sight ;" but those who think,
not less than those who feel deeply, have always advo-
cated its existence. Modern discoveries, indeed, in
what may be termed ethical magnetism or magnetoes-
thetics, render it probable that the most natural, and,
consequently the truest and most intense of the human
affections, are those which arise in the heart as if by
electric sympathy — in a word, that the brightest and
most enduring of the psychal fetters are those which
are riveted by a glance. The confession I am about
to make will add another to the already almost innu-
merable instances of the truth of the position.
My story requires that I should be somewhat minute.
I am still a very young man — not yet twenty-two
years of age. My name, at present, is a very usual
and rather plebeian one — Simpson. I say "at pres-
ent ;" for it is only lately that I have been so called —
having legislatively adopted this surname within the
last year, in order to receive a large inheritance left me
by a distant male relative, Adolphus Simpson, Esq.
The bequest was conditioned upon my taking the name
of the testator ; — the family, not the Christian name;
my Christian name is Napoleon Buonaparte—or, more
properly, these are my first and middle appellations.
VOL.V.-.l (,„)


178 TALES.
I assumed the name, Simpson, with some reluctance,
as in my true patronym, Froissart, I felt a very par-
donable pride; believing that I could trace a descent
from the immortal author of the "Chronicles."
While on the subject of names, by the bye, I may
mention a singular coincidence of sound attending the
names of some of my immediate predecessors. My
father was a Monsieur Froissart, of Paris. His wife,
my mother, whom he married at fifteen, was a Made-
moiselle Croissart, eldest daughter of Croissart the
banker; whose wife, again, being only sixteen when
married, was the eldest daughter of one Victor Vois-
sart. Monsieur Voissart, very singularly, had married
a lady of similar name — a Mademoiselle Moissart.
She, too, was quite a child when married; and her
mother, also, Madame Moissart, was only fourteen
when led to the altar. These early marriages are
usual in France. Here, however, are Moissart, Vois-
sart, Croissart, and Froissart, all in the direct line of
descent. My own name, though, as I say, became Simp-
son, by act of Legislature, and with so much repugnance
on my part that, at one period, I actually hesitated about
accepting the legacy with the useless and annoying
proviso attached.
As to personal endowments I am by no means
deficient. On the contrary, I believe that I am well
made, and possess what nine tenths of the world would
call a handsome face. In height I am five feet eleven.
My hair is black and curling. My nose is sufficiently
good. My eyes are large and gray; and although,
in fact, they are weak to a very inconvenient degree,
still no defect in this regard would be suspected from
their appearance. The weakness, itself, however, has
always much annoyed me, and I have resorted to every


THE SPECTACLES. 179
remedy — short of wearing glasses. Being youthful
and good-looking, I naturally dislike these, and have
resolutely refused to employ them. I know nothing,
indeed, which so disfigures the countenance of a young
person, or so impresses every feature with an air of
demureness, if not altogether of sanctimoniousness and
of age. An eye-glass, on the other hand, has a savor
of downright foppery and affectation. I have hitherto
managed as well as I could without either. But some-
thing too much of these merely personal details, which,
after all, are of little importance. I will content my-
self with saying, in addition, that my temperament is
sanguine, rash, ardent, enthusiastic — and that all my
life I have been a devoted admirer of the women.
One night, last winter, I entered a box at the P
theatre, in company with a friend, Mr. Talbot. It
was an opera night, and the bills presented a very rare
attraction, so that the house was excessively crowded.
We were in time, however, to obtain the front seats
which had been reserved for us, and into which, with
some little difficulty, we elbowed our way.
For two hours, my companion, who was a musical
fanatico, gave his undivided attention to the stage;
and, in the meantime, I amused myself by observing
the audience, which consisted, in chief part, of the
very elite of the city. Having satisfied myself upon
this point, I was about turning my eyes to the prima
donna, when they were arrested and riveted by a figure
in one of the private boxes which had escaped my
observation.
If I live a thousand years, I can never forget the
intense emotion with which I regarded this figure. It
was that of a female, the most exquisite I had ever
beheld. The face was so far turned towards the stage


180 TALES.
that, for some minutes, I could not obtain a view of it
— but the form was divine—no other word can suffi-
ciently express its magnificent proportion, and even the
term "divine" seems ridiculously feeble as I write it.
The magic of a lovely form in woman — the necro-
mancy of female gracefulness — was always a power
which I had found it impossible to resist; but here
was grace personified, incarnate, the beau ideal of mv
wildest and most enthusiastic visions. The figure,
almost all of which the construction of the box per-
mitted to be seen, was somewhat above the medium
height, and nearly approached, without positively
reaching, the majestic. Its perfect fulness and tournure
were delicious. The head, of which only the back
was visible, rivalled in outline that of the Greek
Psyche, and was rather displayed than concealed by an
elegant cap of gaze aerienne, which put me in mind of
the ventum textilem of Apuleius. The right arm
hung over the balustrade of the box, and thrilled every
nerve of my frame with its exquisite symmetry. Its
upper portion was draperied by one of the loose open
sleeves now in fashion. This extended but little be-
low the elbow. Beneath it was worn an under one of
some frail material, close-fitting, and terminated by a
cuff of rich lace which fell gracefully over the top of
the hand, revealing only the delicate fingers, upon one
of which sparkled a diamond ring which I at once saw
was of extraordinary value. The admirable round-
ness of the wrist was well set off by a bracelet which
encircled it, and which also was ornamented and
clasped by a magnificent aigrette of jewels — telling,
in words that could not be mistaken, at once of the
wealth and fastidious taste of the wearer.
I gazed at this queenly apparition for at least half an


THE SPECTACLES. l8l
hour, as if I had been suddenly converted to stone;
and, during this period, I felt the full force and truth
of all that has been said or sung concerning "love at
first sight." My feelings were totally different from
any which I had hitherto experienced, in the presence
of even the most celebrated specimens of female loveli-
ness. An unaccountable, and what I am compelled
to consider a magnetic sympathy of soul for soul,
seemed to rivet, not only my vision, but my whole
powers of thought and feeling upon the admirable ob-
ject before me. I saw — I felt — I knew that I was
deeply, madly, irrevocably in love — and this even be-
fore seeing the face of the person beloved. So intense,
indeed, was the passion that consumed me, that I
really believe it would have received little if any abate-
ment had the features, yet unseen, proved of merely
ordinary character; so anomalous is the nature of the
only true love — of the love at first sight — and so little
really dependent is it upon the external conditions
which only seem to create and control it.
While I was thus wrapped in admiration of this
lovely vision, a sudden disturbance among the audience
caused her to turn her head partially towards me, so
that I beheld the entire profile of the face. Its beauty
even exceeded my anticipations — and yet there was
something about it which disappointed me without my
being able to tell exactly what it was. I said "dis-
appointed," but this is not altogether the word. My
sentiments were at once quieted and exalted. They
partook less of transport and more of calm enthusiasm
— of enthusiastic repose. This state of feeling arose,
perhaps, from the Madonna-like and matronly air of
the face; and yet I at once understood that it could
not have arisen entirely from this. There was some-


182 TALES.
thing else — some mystery which I could not develope
— some expression about the countenance which
slightly disturbed me while it greatly heightened my
interest. In fact, I was just in that condition of mind
which prepares a young and susceptible man for any
act of extravagance. Had the lady been alone, I
should undoubtedly have entered her box and accostep
her at all hazards; but, fortunately, she was attended
by two companions — a gentleman, and a strikingly
beautiful woman, to all appearance a few years younger
than herself.
I revolved in my mind a thousand schemes by which
I might obtain, hereafter, an introduction to the elder
lady, or, for the present, at all events, a more distinct
view of her beauty. I would have removed my posi-
tion to one nearer her own; but the crowded state of
the theatre rendered this impossible, and the stern de-
crees of Fashion had, of late, imperatively prohibited
the use of the opera-glass, in a case such as this, even
had I been so fortunate as to have one with me — but
I had not, and was thus in despair.
At length 1 bethought me of applying to my com-
panion.
"Talbot," I said, "you have an opera-glass. Let
me have it."
"An opera-glass! no! what do you suppose /
would be doing with an opera-glass?" Here he
turned impatiently towards the stage.
"But, Talbot," I continued, pulling him by the
shoulder, " listen to me, will you? Do you see the
stage-box ? — there ! no, the next—did you ever be-
hold as lovely a woman ?''
"She is very beautiful, no doubt," he said.
"I wonder who she can be!"


THE SPECTACLES. 183
"Why, in the name of all that is angelic, don't
you knqtv who she is ?' Not to know her argues
yourself unknown.' She is the celebrated Madame
Lalande — the beauty of the day par excellence, and
the talk of the whole town. Immensely wealthy, too
— a widow, and a great match — has just arrived
from Paris."
"Do you know her?"
"Yes ; I have the honor."
'' Will you introduce me?"
"Assuredly ; with the greatest pleasure ; when shall
it be?"
"To-morrow, at one, I will call upon you at
B V
"Very good: and now do hold your tongue, if
you can."
In this latter respect I was forced to take Talbot's
advice; for he remained obstinately deaf to every
further question or suggestion, and occupied himself
exclusively for the rest of the evening, with what was
transacting upon the stage.
In the mean time I kept my eyes riveted on Madame
Lalande, and at length had the good fortune to obtain
a full front view of her face. It was exquisitely lovely —
this, of course, my heart had told me before, even had
not Talbot fully satisfied me upon the point — but still
the unintelligible something disturbed me. I finally
concluded that my senses were impressed by a certain
air of gravity, sadness, or still more properly, of wear-
iness, which took something from the youth and fresh-
ness of the countenance, only to endow it with a
seraphic tenderness and majesty, and thus, of course, to
my enthusiastic and romantic temperament, with an
interest tenfold.


184 TALES.
While I thus feasted my eyes, I perceived, at last,
to my great trepidation, by an almost imperceptible
start on the part of the lady, that she had become
suddenly aware of the intensity of my gaze. Still, I
was absolutely fascinated, and could not withdraw it,
even for an instant. She turned aside her face, and
again I saw only the chiselled contour of the back por-
tion of the head. After some minutes, as if urged by
curiosity to see if I was still looking, she gradually
brought her face again around and again encountered
my burning gaze. Her large dark eyes fell instantly,
and a deep blush mantled her cheek. But what was
my astonishment at perceiving that she not only pid
not a second time avert her head, but that she actually
took from her girdle a double eye-glass — elevated it
— adjusted it — and then regarded me through it, in-
tently and deliberatelv, for the space of several minutes.
Had a thunderbolt fallen at my feet I could not have
been more thoroughly astounded — astounded only —
not offended or disgusted in the slightest degree; al-
though an action so bold in any other woman, would
have been likely to offend or disgust. But the whole
thing was done with so much quietude — so much
nonchalance — so much repose — with so evident an
air of the highest breeding, in short — that nothing of
mere effrontery was perceptible, and my sole sentiments
were those of admiration and surprise.
I observed that, upon her first elevation of the glass,
she had seemed satisfied with a momentary inspection
of my person, and was withdrawing the instrument,
when, as if struck by a second thought, she resumed it,
and so continued to regard me with fixed attention for
the space of several minutes — for five minutes, at the
very least, I am sure.


THE SPECTACLES. 185
This action, so remarkable in an American theatre,
attracted very general observation, and gave rise to an
indefinite movement, or buzz, among the audience,
which for a moment filled me with confusion, but
produced no visible effect upon the countenance of
Madame Lalande.
Having satisfied her curiosity — if such it was — she
dropped the glass, and quietly gave her attention again
to the stage; her profile now being turned toward my-
self, as before. I continued to watch her unremit-
tingly, although I was fully conscious of my rudeness
in so doing. Presently I saw the head slowly and
slightly change its position; and soon I became con-
vinced that the lady, while pretending to look at the
stage was, in fact, attentively regarding myself. It is
needless to say what effect this conduct, on the part
of so fascinating a woman, had upon my excitable
mind.
Having thus scrutinized me for perhaps a quarter of
an hour, the fair object of my passion addressed the
gentleman who attended her, and, while she spoke, I
saw distinctly, by the glances of both, that the con-
versation had reference to myself.
Upon its conclusion, Madame Lalande again turned
towards the stage, and, for a few minutes, seemed
absorbed in the performances. At the expiration of this
period, however, I was thrown into an extremity of
agitation by seeing her unfold, for the second time, the
eye-glass which hung at her side, fully confront me as
before, and, disregarding the renewed buzz of the audi-
ence, survey me, from head to foot, with the same
miraculous composure which had previously so delighted
and confounded my soul.
This extraordinary behaviour, by throwing me into


186 TALES.
a perfect fever of excitement — into an absolute delirium
of love — served rather to embolden than to disconcert
me. In the mad intensity of my devotion, I forgot
everything but the presence and the majestic loveliness
of the vision which confronted my gaze. Watching
my opportunity, when I thought the audience were
fully engaged with the opera, I at length caught the
eyes of Madame Lalande, and, upon the instant, made
a slight but unmistakeable bow.
She blushed very deeply — then averted her eyes —
then slowly and cautiously looked around, apparently
to see if my rash action had been noticed — then
leaned over towards the gentleman who sat by her
side.
I now felt a burning sense of the impropriety I had
committed, and expected nothing less than instant ex-
posure; while a vision of pistols upon the morrow
floated rapidly and uncomfortably through my brain.
I was greatly and immediately relieved, however, when
I saw the lady merely hand the gentleman a play-bill,
without speaking; but the reader may form some feeble
conception of my astonishment — of my profound
amazement — my delirious bewilderment of heart and
soul — when, instantly afterwards, having again glanced
furtively around, she allowed her bright eyes to settle
fully and steadily upon my own, and then, with a
faint smile, disclosing a bright line of her pearly teeth,
made two distinct, pointed and unequivocal affirmative
inclinations of the head.
It is useless, of course, to dwell upon my joy —
upon my transport — upon my illimitable ecstasy of
heart. If ever man was mad with excess of happiness,
it was myself at that moment. I loved. This was
my first love — so I felt it to be. It was love supreme


THE SPECTACLES. 187
— indescribable. It was "love at first sight ;" and
at first sight too, it had been appreciated and —
returned.
Yes, returned. How and why should I doubt it for
an instant? What other construction could I possibly
put upon such conduct, on the part of a lady so beauti-
ful— so wealthy — evidently so accomplished — of so
high breeding — of so lofty a position in society — in
every regard so entirely respectable as I felt assured was
Madame Lalande? Yes, she loved me — she returned
the enthusiasm of my love, with an enthusiasm as blind
— as uncompromising — as uncalculating — as aban-
doned — and as utterly unbounded as my own! These
delicious fancies and reflections, however, were now in-
terrupted by the falling of the drop-curtain. The audience
arose; and the usual tumult immediately supervened.
Quitting Talbot abruptly, I made every effort to force
my way into closer proximity with Madame Lalande.
Having failed in this, on account of the crowd, I at
length gave up the chase, and bent my steps home-
wards; consoling myself for my disappointment in not
having been able to touch even the hem of her robe,
by the reflection that I should be introduced by Talbot,
in due form, upon the morrow.
This morrow at last came; that is to say, a day
finally dawned upon a long and weary night of im-
patience; and then the hours until "one" were
snail-paced, dreary and innumerable. But even
Stamboul, it is said, shall have an end, and there came
an end to this long delay. The clock struck. As the
last echo ceased, I stepped into B 's and enquired
for Talbot.
"Out," said the footman — Talbot's own.
"Out!" I replied, staggering back half a dozen


188 TALES.
paces — " let me tell you, my fine fellow, that this thing
is thoroughly impossible and impracticable ; Mr. Talbot
is not out. What do you mean ?''
"Nothing, sir; only Mr. Talbot is not in. That's
all. He rode over to S , immediately after break-
fast, and left word that he would not be in town again
for a week."
I stood petrified with horror and rage. I endeavored
to reply, but my tongue refused its office. At length
I turned on my heel, livid with wrath, and inwardly
consigning the whole tribe of the Talbots to the inner-
most regions of Erebus. It was evident that my
considerate friend, il fanatico, had quite forgotten his
appointment with myself—had forgotten it as soon
as it was made. At no time was he a very scrup-
ulous man of his word. There was no help for
it; so smothering my vexation as well as I could, I
strolled moodily up the street, propounding futile in-
quiries about Madame Lalande to every male acqaintance
I met. By report she was known, I found, to all —
to many by sight—but she had been in town only a
few weeks, and there were very few, therefore, who
claimed her personal acquaintance. These few, being
still comparatively strangers, could not, or would not,
take the liberty of introducing me through the formality
of a morning call. While I stood thus, in despair,
conversing with a trio of friends upon the all absorbing
subject of my heart, it so happened that the subject
itself passed by.
"As I live, there she is !" cried one.
"Surpassingly beautiful !'' exclaimed a second.
"An angel upon earth !" ejaculated a third.
I looked ; and, in an open carriage which approached
us, passing slowly down the street, sat the enchanting


THE SPECTACLES. 189
vision of the opera, accompanied by the younger lady
who had occupied a portion of her box.
"Her companion also wears remarkably well," said
the one of my trio who had spoken first.
"Astonishingly," said the second; "still quite a
brilliant air ; but art will do wonders. Upon my word,
she looks better than she did at Paris five years ago.
A beautiful woman still; — don't you think so, Frois-
sart?—Simpson, I mean."
"Still!" said I, "and why shouldn't she be?
But compared with her friend she is as a rushlight to
the evening star — a glow-worm to Antares.''
"Ha! ha! ha! — why, Simpson, you have an
astonishing tact at making discoveries — original ones,
I mean." And here we separated, while one of the
trio began humming a gay vaudeville, of which I
caught only the lines —
Ninon, Ninon, Ninon a bas —
A bas Ninon De L'Enclos!
During this little scene, however, one thing had
served greatly to console me, although it fed the passion
by which I was consumed. As the carriage of Ma-
dame Lalande rolled by our group, I had observed that
she recognized me; and more than this, she had
blessed me, by the most seraphic of all imaginable
smiles, with no equivocal mark of the recognition.
As for an introduction, I was obliged to abandon all
hope of it, until such time as Talbot should think
proper to return from the country. In the meantime
I perseveringly frequented every reputable place of
public amusement; and, at length, at the theatre,
where I first saw her, I had the supreme bliss of meet-
ing her, and of exchanging glances with her once


190 TALES.
again. This did not occur, however, until the lapse
of a fortnight. Every day, in the interim, I had in-
quired for Talbot at his hotel, and every day had been
thrown into a spasm of wrath by the everlasting " Not
come home yet " of his footman.
Upon the evening in question, therefore, I was in a
condition little short of madness. Madame Lalande,
I had been told, was a Parisian — had lately arrivep
from Paris — might she not suddenly return ? — return
before Talbot came back — and might she not be thus
lost to me forever? The thought was too terrible to
bear. Since my future happiness was at issue, I re-
solved to act with a manly decision. In a word, upon
the breaking up of the play, I traced the lady to her
residence, noted the address, and the next morning
sent her a full and elaborate letter, in which I poured
out my whole heart.
I spoke boldly, freely — in a word, I spoke with
passion. I concealed nothing — nothing even of my
weakness. I alluded to the romantic circumstances of
our first meeting — even to the glances which had
passed between us. I went so far as to say that I felt as-
sured of her love; while I offered this assurance, and
my own intensity of devotion, as two excuses for my
otherwise unpardonable conduct. As a third, I spoke
of my fear that she might quit the city before I could
have the opportunity of a formal introduction. I con-
cluded the most wildly enthusiastic epistle ever penned,
with a frank declaration of my worldly circumstances
— of my affluence — and with an offer of my heart
and of my hand.
In an agony of expectation I awaited the reply.
After what seemed the lapse of a century it came.
Yes, actuallv came. Romantic as all this may appear,


THE SPECTACLES. 191
I really received a letter from Madame Lalande — the
beautiful, the wealthy, the idolized Madame Lalande.
— Her eyes — her magnificent eyes — had not belied
her noble heart. Like a true Frenchwoman, as she
was, she had obeyed the frank dictates of her reason —
the generous impulses of her nature — despising the
conventional pruderies of the world. She had not
scorned my proposals. She had not sheltered herself
in silence. She had not returned my letter unopened.
She had even sent me, in reply, one penned by her
own exquisite fingers. It ran thus:
Monsieur Simpson vill pardonne me for not compose de
butefulle tong of his contree so veil as might. It is only
de late dat I am arrive, and not yet ave de opportunity
for to — l'etudier.
Vid dis apologte for de maniere, I vill now say dat,
he-las !— Monsieur Simpson ave guess but de too true.
Need I say de more . Helas! am I not ready speak de
too moshe?
Eugenie Lalande.
This noble-spirited note I kissed a million times, and
committed, no doubt, on its account, a thousand other
extravagances that have now escaped my memory.
Still Talbot would not return. Alas! could he have
formed even the vaguest idea of the suffering his ab-
sence occasioned his friend, would not his sympathizing
nature have flown immediately to my relief? Still,
however, he came not. I wrote. He replied. He
was detained by urgent business — but would shortly
return. He begged me not to be impatient — to moder-
ate my transports — to read soothing books — to drink
nothing stronger than Hock — and to bring the conso-
lations of philosophy to my aid. The fool! if he could


192 TALES.
not come himself, why, in the name of every r*»rrrg
rational, could he not have enclosed me a letter of pre-
sentation? I wrote again, entreating him to forward
one forthwith. My letter was returned by that tooc-
man, with the following endorsement in pencil. The
scoundrel had joined his master in the country:
Left S yesterday, tor parts unknown — did not
say where— or when be back — so thought best to return
letter, knowing your handwriting, and as how too is
always, more or less, in a hurry. —
Yours, sincerely,
STtTBBS-
After this, it 'is needless to say, that I devoted to
the infernal deities both master and valet; — but there
was little use in anger, and no consolation at ail in
complaint.
But I had yet a resource left, in my constitutional
audacity. Hitherto it had served me well, and I now
resolved to make it avail me to the end. Besides,
after the correspondence which had passed between us,
what act of mere informality auld I commit, within
bounds, that ought to be regarded as indecorous by
Madame Lalande? Since the affair of the letter, I hap
been in the habit of watching her house, and thus pis-
covered that, about twilight, it was her custom to
promenade, attended only by a negro in livery, in a
public square overlooked by her windows. Here,
amid the luxuriant and shadowing groves, in the gray
gloom of a sweet midsummer evening, I observed my
opportunity and accosted her.
The better to deceive the servant in attendance, I
did this with the assured air of an old anp familiar ac-
quaintance. With a presence of mind truly Parisian,


THE SPECTACLES. 193
she took the cue at once, and, to greet me, held out
the most bewitchingly little of hands. The valet at
once fell into the rear; and now, with hearts full to
overflowing, we discoursed long and unreservedly of
our love.
As Madame Lalande spoke English even less flu-
ently than she wrote it, our conversation was necessarily
in French. In this sweet tongue, so adapted to pas-
sion, I gave loose to the impetuous enthusiasm of my
nature, and with all the eloquence I could command,
besought her consent to an immediate marriage.
At this impatience she smiled. She urged the old
story of decorum — that bug-bear which deters so
many from bliss until the opportunity for bliss has for-
ever gone by. I had most imprudently made it known
among my friends, she observed, that I desired her
acquaintance — thus that I did not possess it — thus,
again, there was no possibility of concealing the date
of our first knowledge of each other. And then she
adverted, with a blush, to the extreme recency of this
date. To wed immediately would be improper —
would be indecorous — would be outre. — All this she
said with a charming air of naivete which enraptured
while it grieved and convinced me. She went even
so far as to accuse me, laughingly, of rashness — of
imprudence. She bade me remember that I really even
knew not who she was — what were her prospects,
her connexions, her standing in society. She begged
me, but with a sigh, to reconsider my proposal, and
termed my love an infatuation — a will o' the wisp —
a fancy or fantasy of the moment — a baseless and
unstable creation rather of the imagination than of the
heart. These things she uttered as the shadows of the
•weet twilight gathered darkly and more darkly around
Vol. V. — ij


194 TALES.
us—and then, with a gentle pressure of her fairy-like
hand, overthrew, in a single sweet instant, all the ar-
gumentative fabric she had reared.
I replied as best I could — as only a true lover can.
I spoke at length, and perseveringly, of my devotion,
of my passion — of her exceeding beauty, and of my
own enthusiastic admiration. In conclusion, I dwelt,
with a convincing energy, upon the perils that encom-
pass the course of love — that course of true love that
never did run smooth, and thus deduced the manifest
danger of rendering that course unnecessarily long.
This latter argument seemed finally to soften the
rigor of her determination. She relented; but there
was yet an obstacle, she said, which she felt assured I
had not properly considered. This was a delicate
point — for a woman to urge, especially so; in men-
tioning it, she saw that she must make a sacrifice of her
feelings; still, for me, every sacrifice should be made.
She alluded to the topic of age. Was I aware — was
I fully aware of the discrepancy between us? That
the age of the husband should surpass by a few years —
even by fifteen or twenty — the age of the wife, was
regarded by the world as admissible, and, indeed, as
even proper; but she had always entertained the belief
that the years of the wife should never exceed in
number those of the husband. A discrepancy of this
unnatural kind gave rise, too frequently, alas ! to a life
of unhappiness. Now she was aware that my own
age did not exceed two and twenty; and I, on the
contrary, perhaps, was not aware that the years of
my Eugenie extended very considerably beyond that
sum.
About all this there was a nobility of soul —a
dignity of candor — which delighted — which en-


THE SPECTACLES. 195
chanted me — which eternally rivetted my chains. I
could scarcely restrain the excessive transport which
possessed me.
"My sweetest Eugenie," I cried, "what is all this
about which you are discoursing? Your years surpass
in some measure my own. But what then? The
customs of the world are so many conventional follies.
To those who love as ourselves, in what respect differs
a year from an hour? I am twenty-two, you say;
granted: indeed you may as well call me, at once,
twenty-three. Now you yourself, my dearest Eugenie,
can have numbered no more than — can have numbered
no more than — no more than — than — than —
than —"
Here I paused for an instant, in the expectation that
Madame Lalande would interrupt me by supplying her
true age. But a Frenchwoman is seldom direct, and
has always, by way of answer to an embarrassing query,
some little practical reply of her own. In the present
instance Eugenie, who, for a few moments past, had
seemed to be searching for something in her bosom, at
length let fall upon the grass a miniature, which I im-
mediately picked up and presented to her.
"Keep it !" she said, with one of her most ravish-
ing smiles. "Keep it for my sake — for the sake of
her whom it too flatteringly represents. Besides, upon
the back of the trinket, you may discover, perhaps, the
very information you seem to desire. It is now, to be
sure, growing rather dark — but you can examine it at
your leisure in the morning. In the meantime, you
shall be my escort home to-night. My friends are
about holding a little musical levee. I can promise
you, too, some good singing. We French are not
nearly so punctilious as you Americans, and I shall


196 TALES.
have no difficulty in smuggling you in, in the character
of an old acquaintance."
With this, she took my arm, and I attended her
home. The mansion was quite a fine one, and, I be-
lieve, furnished in good taste. Of this latter point,
however, I am scarcely qualified to judge; for it was
just dark as we arrived; and in American mansions of
the better sort, lights seldom, during the heat of sum-
mer, make their appearance at this, the most pleasant
period of the day. In about an hour after my arrival,
to be sure, a single shaded solar lamp was lit in the
principal drawing-room; and this apartment, I could
thus see, was arranged with unusual good taste and
even splendor; but two other rooms of the suite, and
in which the company chiefly assembled, remained,
during the whole evening, in a very agreeable shadow.
This is a well conceived custom, giving the party at
least a choice of light or shade, and one which our
friends over the water could not do better than imme-
diately adopt.
The evening thus spent was unquestionably the most
delicious of my life. Madame Lalande had not over-
rated the musical abilities of her friends; and the sing-
ing I here heard I had never heard excelled in any
private circle out of Vienna. The instrumental per-
formers were many and of superior talents. The
vocalists were chiefly ladies, and no individual sang less
than well. At length, upon a peremptory call for
"Madame Lalande," she arose at once, without affec-
tation or demur, from the chaise longue upon which
she had sate by my side, and, accompanied by one or
two gentlemen and her female friend of the opera, re-
paired to the piano in the main drawing-room. I
would have escorted her myself; but felt that, under


THE SPECTACLES. 197
the circumstances of my introduction to the house, I
had better remain unobserved where I was. I was
thus deprived of the pleasure of seeing, although not of
hearing her, sing.
The impression she produced upon the company
seemed electrical — but the effect upon myself was
something even more. I know not how adequately
to describe it. It arose in part, no doubt, from the
sentiment of love with which I was imbued; but
chiefly from my conviction of the extreme sensibility
of the singer. It is beyond the reach of art to endow
either air or recitative with more impassioned expression
than was hers. Her utterance of the romance in
Otello — the tone with which she gave the words
"Sul mio sasso," in the Capuletti — is ringing in my
memory yet. Her lower tones were absolutely mirac-
ulous. Her voice embraced three complete octaves,
extending from the contralto D to the D upper soprano,
and, though sufficiently powerful to have filled the San
Carlos, executed, with the minutest precision, every
difficulty of vocal composition — ascending and de-
scending scales, cadences, or fioriture. In the finale of
the Sonnambula, she brought about a most remarkable
effect at the words —
Ah ! non giunge uman pensiero
Al contento ond 'io son piena.
Here, in imitation of Malibran, she modified the
original phrase of Bellini, so as to let her voice descend
to the tenor G, when, by a rapid transition, she struck
the G above the treble stave, springing over an interval
of two octaves.
Upon rising from the piano after these miracles of


198 TALES.
vocal execution, she resumed her seat by mv side;
when I expressed to her, in terms of the deepest en-
thusiasm, my delight at her performance. Of my
surprise I said nothing, and yet was I most unfeignedly
surprised; for a certain feebleness, or rather a certain
tremulous indecision of voice in ordinary conversation,
had prepared me to anticipate that, in singing, she
would not acquit herself with any remarkable ability.
Our conversation was now long, earnest, uninter-
rupted, and totally unreserved. She made me relate
many of the earlier passages of my life, and listened
with breathless attention, to every word of the narra-
tive. I concealed nothing—I felt that I had a right
to conceal nothing from her confiding affection. En-
couraged by her candor upon the delicate point of her
age, I entered, with perfect frankness, not only into a
detail of my many minor vices, but made full confession
of those moral and even of those physical infirmities,
the disclosure of which, in demanding so much higher
a degree of courage, is so much surer an evidence of
love. I touched upon my college indiscretions — upon
my extravagances — upon my carousals — upon my
debts — upon my flirtations. I even went so far as to
speak of a slightly hectic cough with which, at one
time, I had been troubled — of a chronic rheumatism
-—of a twinge of hereditary gout — and, in conclusion,
of the disagreeable and inconvenient, but hitherto care-
fully concealed, weakness of my eyes.
"Upon this latter point," said Madame Lalande,
laughingly, " you have been surely injudicious in coming
to confession; for, without the confession, I take it for
granted that no one would have accused you of the
crime. By the by " she continued, "have you any
recollection " —and here I fancied that a blush, even


THE SPECTACLES. 199
through the gloom of the apartment, became distinctly
visible upon her cheek —" have you any recollection,
mon cher ami, of this little ocular assistant which now
depends from my neck ?''
As she spoke she twirled in her fingers the identical
double eye-glass, which had so overwhelmed me with
confusion at the opera.
"Full well — alas !do I remember it," I exclaimed,
pressing passionately the delicate hand which offered
the glasses for my inspection. They formed a complex
and magnificent toy, richly chased and filagreed, and
gleaming with jewels, which, even in the deficient
light, I could not help perceiving were of high value.
"Eb bien! mon ami," she resumed with a certain
empressement of manner that rather surprised me —
"Eb bien, mon ami, you have earnestly besought of
me a favor which you have been pleased to denominate
priceless. You have demanded of me my hand upon
the morrow. Should I yield to your entreaties — and,
I may add, to the pleadings of my own bosom —
would I not be entitled to demand of you a very — a
very little boon in return ?''
"Name it !" I exclaimed with an energy that had
nearly drawn upon us the observation of the company,
and restrained by their presence alone from throwing
myself impetuously at her feet. "Name it, my be-
loved, my Eugenie, my own !— name it !— but alas
it is already yielded ere named."
"You shall conquer then, man ami," she said,
"for the sake of the Eugenie whom you love, this
little weakness which you have last confessed — this
weakness more moral than physical — and which, let
me assure you, is so unbecoming the nobility of your
real nature — so inconsistent with the candor of your


200 TALES.
usual character — and which, if permitted farther con-
trol, will assuredly involve you, sooner or later, in some
very disagreeable scrape. You shall conquer, for my
sake, this affectation which leads you, as you yourself
acknowledge, to the tacit or implied denial of your
infirmity of vision. For, this infirmity you virtually
deny, in refusing to employ the customary means for
its relief. You will understand me to say, then, that
I wish you to wear spectacles : — ah, hush ! — you
have already consented to wear them, for my sake.
You shall accept the little toy which I now hold in my
hand, and which, though admirable as an aid to vision,
is really of no very immense value as a gem. You
perceive that, by a trifling modification thus — or thus
— it can be adapted to the eyes in the form of spec-
tacles, or worn in the waistcoat pocket as an eye-glass.
It is in the former mode, however, and habitually,
that you have already consented to wear it for my
sake."
This request — must I confess it ? — confused me
in no little degree. But the condition with which it
was coupled rendered hesitation, of course, a matter
altogether out of the question.
"It is done !" I cried, with all the enthusiasm that
I could muster at the moment. "It is done —it is
most cheerfully agreed. I sacrifice every feeling for
your sake. To-night I wear this dear eye-glass, as an
eye-glass, and upon my heart; but with the earliest
dawn of that morning which gives me the pleasure of
calling you wife, I will place it upon my — upon my
nose — and there wear it ever afterwards, in the less
romantic, and less fashionable, but certainly in the
more serviceable form which you desire."
Our conversation now turned upon the details of our


THE SPECTACLES. 201
arrangements for the morrow. Talbot, I learned from
my betrothed, had just arrived in town. I was to see
him at once, and procure a carriage. The soiree would
scarcely break up before two; and by this hour the
vehicle was to be at the door; when, in the confusion
occasioned by the departure of the company, Madame
L. could easily enter it unobserved. We were then to
call at the house of a clergyman who would be in
waiting; there be married, drop Talbot, and proceed
on a short tour to the East; leaving the fashionable
world at home to make whatever comments upon the
matter it thought best.
Having planned all this, I immediately took leave,
and went in search of Talbot, but, on the way, I
could not refrain from stepping into a hotel, for the
purpose of inspecting the miniature; and this I did by
the powerful aid of the glasses. The countenance
was a surpassingly beautiful one! Those large lumin-
ous eyes !— that proud Grecian nose !— those dark
luxuriant curls !— "Ah!" said 1 exultingly to my-
self, "this is indeed the speaking image of my be-
loved!" I turned the reverse, and discovered the
words — " Eugenie Lalande — aged twenty-seven
years and seven months."
I found Talbot at home, and proceeded at once to
acquaint him with my good fortune. He professed
excessive astonishment, of course, but congratulated
me most cordially, and proffered every assistance in his
power. In a word, we carried out our arrangement
to the letter; and, at two in the morning, just ten
minutes after the ceremony, I found myself in a close
carriage with Madame Lalande — with Mrs. Simpson,
I should say — and driving at a great rate out of town,
in a direction North-east and by North, half-North.


202 TALES.
It had been determined for us by Talbot, that, as
we were to be up all night, we should make our first
stop at C , a village about twenty miles from the
city, and there get an early breakfast and some repose,
before proceeding upon our route. At four precisely,
therefore, the carriage drew up at the door of the
principal inn. I handed my adored wife out, and
ordered breakfast forthwith. In the mean time we
were shown into a small parlor and sate down.
It was now nearly if not altogether daylight; and,
as I gazed, enraptured, at the angel by my side, the
singular idea came, all at once, into my head, that this
was really the very first moment since my acquaintance
with the celebrated loveliness of Madame Lalande, that
I had enjoyed a near inspection of that loveliness by
daylight, at all.
"And now, men ami" said she taking my hand,
and so interrupting this train of reflection, "and now,
man chcr ami, since we are indissolubly one — since
I have yielded to your passionate entreaties, and per-
formed my portion of our agreement — I presume you
have not forgotten that you also have a little favor to be-
stow — a little promise which it is your intention to keep.
Ah ! — let me see! Let me remember! Yes; full
easily do I call to mind the precise words of the dear
promise you made to Eugenie last night. Listen!
You spoke thus: 'It is done !— it is most cheerfully
agreed! I sacrifice every feeling for your sake. To-
night I wear this dear eye-glass as an eye-glass, and upon
my heart; but with the earliest dawn of that morning
which gives me the privilege of calling you wife, 1
will place it upon my — upon my nose — and there
wear it, ever afterwards, in the less romantic, and less
fashionable, but certainly in the more serviceable form


THE SPECTACLES. 203
which you desire.' These were the exact words, my
beloved husband, were they not ?''
"They were," I said; "you have an excellent
memory ; and assuredly, my beautiful Eugenie, there
is no disposition on my part to evade the performance
of the trivial promise they imply. See! Behold!
They are becoming — rather — are they not ?'' And
here, having arranged the glasses in the ordinary form
of spectacles, I applied them gingerlv in their proper
position; while Madame Simpson, adjusting her cap,
and folding her arms, sat bolt upright in her chair, in
a somewhat stiff and prim, and indeed in a somewhat
undignified position.
"Goodness gracious me !" I exclaimed almost at
the very instant that the rim of the spectacles had set-
tled upon my nose— " Mv! goodness gracious me!
— why what can be the matter with these glasses?"
and taking them quickly off, I wiped them carefully
with a silk handkerchief, and adjusted them again.
But if, in the first instance, there had occurred some-
thing which occasioned me surprise, in the second,
this surprise became elevated into astonishment; and this
astonishment was profound — was extreme — indeed I
may say it was horrific. What, in the name of every-
thing hideous, did this mean? Could I believe my
eyes ? — could I ?— that was the question. Was that
— was that — was that rouge? And were those —
were those — were those wrinhla, upon the visage of
Eugenie Lalande ? — And oh, Jupiter ! and every one
of the gods and goddesses, little and big !— what —
what — what — what had become of her teeth? I
dashed the spectacles violently to the ground, and,
leaping to my feet, stood erect in the middle of the
floor, confronting Mrs. Simpson, with my arms set


204 TALES.
a-kimbo, and grinning and foaming, but, at the same
time utterly speechless and helpless with terror and
with rage.
Now I have already said that Madame Eugenie La-
lande — that is to say, Simpson — spoke the English
language but very little better than she wrote it: and
for this reason she very properly never attempted to
speak it upon ordinary occasions. But rage will carrv
a lady to any extreme; and in the present case it car-
ried Mrs. Simpson to the very extraordinary extreme
of attempting to hold a conversation in a tongue that
she did not altogether understand.
"Vell, Monsieur," said she, after surveying me, in
great apparent astonishment, for some moments —
"Vell, Monsieur ! — and vat den ? — vat de matter
now? Is it de dance of de Saint Vitusse dat you ave?
If not like me, vat for vy buy de pig in de poke?"
"You wretch!" said I, catching my breath —
"you — you — you villainous old hag!"
"Ag ? — ole ? — me not so ver ole, after all ! me not
one single day more dan de eighty-doo."
"Eighty-two!" I ejaculated, staggering to the
wall — " eighty-two hundred thousand baboons! The
miniature said twenty-seven years and seven months!"
"To be sure !— dat is so !— ver true ! but den de
portraite has been take for dese fifty-five year. Ven I
go marry my segonde usbande, Monsieur Lalande, at
dat time I had de portraite take for my daughter by
my first usbande, Monsieur Moissart."
"Moissart !'' said I.
"Yes, Moissart, Moissart;" said she, mimicking
my pronunciation, which, to speak the truth, was none
of the best; "and vat den? Vat you know bout de
Moissart ?''


THE SPECTACLES. 205
"Nothing, you old fright ! — I know nothing about
him at all ;— only I hid an ancestor of that name,
once upon a time."
"Dat name ! and vat you ave for say to dat name?
— 'T is ver goot name; and so is Voissart — dat is
ver goot name, too. My daughter, Mademoiselle
Moissart, she marry von Monsieur Voissart; and de
name is bote ver respectaable name."
"Moissart!" I exclaimed, "and Voissart! why
what is it you mean?"
"Vat I mean? — I mean Moissart and Voissart;
and for de matter of dat, I mean Croissart and Frois-
sart, too, if I only tink proper to mean it. My daugh-
ter's daughter, Mademoiselle Voissart, she marry von
Monsieur Croissart, and, den agin, my daughter's
grande daughter, Mademoiselle Croissart, she marry
von Monsieur Froissart; and I suppose you say dat
dat is not von ver respectaable name."
"Froissart!" said I, beginning to faint, "why
surely you don't say Moissart, and Voissart, and
Croissart, and Froissart ?''
"Yes," she replied, leaning fully back in her chair,
and stretching out her lower limbs at great length;
"yes, Moissart, and Voissart, and Croissart, and
Froissart. But Monsieur Froissart, he vas von ver
big vat you call fool — he vas von ver great big donee
like yourself— for he lef la belle France for come to
dis stupide Ameriquc — and ven he get here he vent
and ave von ver stupide, von ver, ver stupide sonn,
so I hear, dough I not yet av ad de plaisir to meet vid
him — neither me nor my companion, de Madame
Stephanie Lalande. He is name de Napoleon Bona-
parte Froissart, and I suppose you say dat dat, too, is
not von ver respectaable name."


206 TALES.
Either the length or the nature of this speech, had
the effect of working up Mrs. Simpson into a very ex-
traordinary passion indeed; and as she made an end
of it, with great labor, she jumped up from her chair
like somebody bewitched, dropping upon the floor an
entire universe of bustle as she jumped. Once upon
her feet, she gnashed her gums, brandished her arms,
rolled up her sleeves, shook her fist in my face, and
concluded the performance by tearing the cap from her
head, and with it an immense wig of the most valuable
and beautiful black hair, the whole of which she dashed
upon the ground with a yell, and there trampled and
danced a fandango upon it, in an absolute ecstasy and
agony of rage.
Meantime I sank aghast into the chair which she had
vacated. "Moissart and Voissart!" I repeated,
thoughtfully, as she cut one of her pigeon-wings, and
"Croissart and Froissart!" as she completed another
— " Moissart and Voissart and Croissart and Napo-
leon Bonaparte Froissart !— why, you ineffable old
serpent, that's me—that's me— d' ye hear? — that's
me"—here I screamed at the top of my voice —
"that's me e e! /am Napoleon Bonaparte Froissart!
and if I havn't married my great, great, grandmother,
I wish I may be everlastingly confounded!"
Madame Eugenie Lalande, quasi Simpson — formerly
Moissart — was, in sober fact, my great, great, grand-
mother. In her youth she had been beautiful, and
even at eighty-two, retained the majestic height, the
sculptural contour of head, the fine eyes and the Gre-
cian nose of her girlhood. By the aid of these, of
pearl-powder, of rouge, of false hair, false teeth, and
false tournure, as well as of the most skilful modistes
of Paris, she contrived to hold a respectable footing


The SPECIAtºl F. s.
Drawn by F. C. Triner








THE SPECTACLES. 207
among the beauties tin pen p assies of the French metrop-
olis. In this respect, indeed, she might have been re-
garded as little less than the equal of the celebrated
Ninon De L'Enclos.
She was immensely wealthy, and being left, for the
second time, a widow without children, she bethought
herself of my existence in America, and, for the pur-
pose of making me her heir, paid a visit to the United
States, in company with a distant and exceedingly
lovely relative of her second husband's — a Madame
Stephanie Lalande.
At the opera, my great, great, grandmother's atten-
tion was arrested by my notice; and, upon surveying
me through her eye-glass, she was struck with a cer-
tain family resemblance to herself. Thus interested,
and knowing that the heir she sought was actually in
the city, she made inquiries of her party respecting
me. — The gentleman who attended her knew my
person, and told her who I was. The information
thus obtained induced her to renew her scrutiny; and
this scrutiny it was which so emboldened me that I
behaved in the absurd manner already detailed. She
returned my bow, however, under the impression that,
by some odd accident, I had discovered her identity.
When, deceived by my weakness of vision, and the
arts of the toilet, in respect to the age and charms of
the strange lady, I demanded so enthusiastically of
Talbot who she was, he concluded that I meant the
younger beauty, as a matter of course, and so informed
me, with perfect truth, that she was "the celebrated
widow, Madame Lalande."
In the street, next morning, my great, great, grand-
mother encountered Talbot, an old Parisian acquaint-
ance; and the conversation, very naturally, turned upon


208 TALES.
myself. My deficiencies of vision were then explained;
for these were notorious, although I was entirely
ignorant of their notoriety; and my good old relative
discovered, much to her chagrin, that she had been
deceived in supposing me aware of her identity, and
that I had been merely making a fool of myself, in
making open love, in a theatre, to an old woman un-
known. By way of punishing me for this imprudence,
she concocted with Talbot a plot. He purposely kept
out of my way, to avoid giving me the introduction.
My street inquiries about " the lovely widow, Madame
Lalande," were supposed to refer to the younger lady,
of course; and thus the conversation with the three
gentlemen whom I encountered shortly after leaving
Talbot's hotel, will be easily explained, as also their
allusion to Ninon De L'Enclos. I had no opportunity
of seeing Madame Lalande closely during daylight;
and, at her musical soiree, my silly weakness in refusing
the aid of glasses, effectually prevented me from making
a discovery of her age. When "Madame Lalande"
was called upon to sing, the younger lady was in-
tended; and it was she who arose to obey the call;
my great, great, grandmother, to further the deception,
arising at the same moment, and accompanying her to
the piano in the main drawing-room. Had I decided
upon escorting her thither, it had been her design to
suggest the propriety of my remaining where I was;
but my own prudential views rendered this unnecessary.
The songs which I so much admired, and which so con-
firmed my impression of the youth of my mistress, were
executed by Madame Stephanie Lalande. The eye-
glass was presented by way of adding a reproof to the
hoax — a sting to the epigram of the deception. Its
presentation afforded an opportunity for the lecture


THE SPECTACLES. 209
upon affectation with which I was so especially edified.
It is almost superfluous to add that the glasses of the
instrument, as worn by the old lady, had been ex-
changed by her for a pair better adapted to my years.
They suited me, in fact, to a t.
The clergyman, who merely pretended to tie the
fatal knot, was a boon companion of Talbot's, and no
priest.—He was an excellent "whip," however;
and having doffed his cassock to put on a great coat,
he drove the hack which conveyed the "happy
couple '' out of town. Talbot took a seat at his side.
The two scoundrels were thus "in at the death," and,
through a half open window of the back parlor of the
inn, amused themselves in grinning at the denouement
of the drama. I believe I shall be forced to call them
both out.
Nevertheless, I am not the husband of my great,
great, grandmother; and this is a reflection which affords
me infinite relief; — but I am the husband of Madame
Lalande — of Madame Stephanie Lalande — with
whom my good old relative, besides making me her sole
heir when she dies — if she ever does— has been at
the trouble of concocting me a match. In conclusion:
I am done forever with billets doux, and am never to
be met without spectacles.
Vol. V. —14


DIDDLING
CONSIDERED AS ONE OF THE EXACT SCIENCES.
[Broadway Journal, II. lo.J
Hey, diddle diddle,
The cat and the fiddle.
Since the world began there have been two Jeremys.
The one wrote a Jeremiad about usury, and was
called Jeremy Bentham. He has been much admired
by Mr. John Neal,1 and was a great man in a small
way. The other gave name to the most important of
the Exact Sciences, and was a great man in a great way
— I may say, indeed, in the very greatest of ways.
Diddling — or the abstract idea conveyed by the
verb to diddle — is sufficiently well understood. Yet
the fact, the deed, the thing diddling, is somewhat dif-
ficult to define. We may get, however, at a tolerably
distinct conception of the matter in hand, by defining
— not the thing, diddling, in itself— but man, as an ani-
mal that diddles. Had Plato but hit upon this, he would
have been spared the affront of the picked chicken.
Very pertinently it was demanded of Plato, why a
picked chicken, which was clearly a "biped without
1 The allusion is to John Neal's "The Yankee; and Boston
Literary Gazette," a periodical whose No. 79 (July, 1819) con-
tained a picture and eulogistic notice of Jeremy Bentham, with a
motto from Bentham's writings. — Ed.
(no)


DIDDLING. 211
feathers," was not, according to his own definition, a
man? But I am not to be bothered by any similar
query. Man is an animal that diddles, and there is
no animal that diddles but man. It will take an entire
hen-coop of picked chickens to get over that.
What constitutes the essence, the nare, the principle
of diddling is, in fact, peculiar to the class of creatures
that wear coats and pantaloons. A crow thieves; a
fox cheats; a weasel outwits; a man diddles. To
diddle is his destiny. "Man was made to mourn,"
says the poet. But not so : — he was made to diddle.
This is his aim — his object — his end. And for this
reason when a man 's diddled we say he 's "done."
Diddling, rightly considered, is a compound, of
which the ingredients are minuteness, interest, perse-
verance, ingenuity, audacity, nonchalance, originality,
impertinence, and grin.
Minuteness: — Your diddler is minute. His opera-
tions are upon a small scale. His business is retail, for
cash, or approved paper at sight. Should he ever be
tempted into magnificent speculation, he then, at once,
loses his distinctive features, and becomes what we
term "financier." This latter word conveys the
diddling idea in every respect except that of magni-
tude. A diddler may thus be regarded as a banker
in petto — a "financial operation," as a diddle at
Brobdignag. The one is to the other, as Homer to
"Flaccus"1— as a Mastodon to a mouse — as the tail
of a comet to that of a pig.
Interest: — Your diddler is guided by self-interest.
He scorns to diddle for the mere sake of the diddle. He
has an object in view — his pocket — and yours. He re-
1 See Vol. XI. for Poe'i paper on "FUcciu."


212 TALES.
gards always the main chance. He looks to Number
One. You are Number Two, and must look to yourself.
Perseverance: — Your diddler perseveres. He is
not readily discouraged. Should even the banks break,
he cares nothing about it. He steadily pursues his
end, and
Ut cants a corio nunquam absterrebitur undo,
so he never lets go of his game.
Ingenuity : — Your diddler is ingenious. He has
constructiveness large. He understands plot. He
invents and circumvents. Were he not Alexander he
would be Diogenes. Were he not a diddler, he would
be a maker of patent rat-traps or an angler for trout.
Audacity: — Your diddler is audacious. — He is a
bold man. He carries the war into Africa. He con-
quers all by assault. He would not fear the daggers
of the Frey Herren. With a little more prudence
Dick Turpin would have made a good diddler; with
a trifle less blarney, Daniel O'Connell; with a pound
or two more brains, Charles the Twelfth.
Nonchalance: — Your diddler is nonchalant. He is
not at all nervous. He never had any nerves. He
is never seduced into a flurry. He is never put out —
unless put out of doors. He is cool — cool as a
cucumber. He is calm — "calm as a smile from
Lady Bury." He is easy — easy as an old glove, or
the damsels of ancient Baize.
Originality: — Your diddler is original — conscien-
tiously so. His thoughts are his own. He would
scorn to employ those of another. A stale trick is his
aversion. He would return a purse, I am sure, upon
discovering that he had obtained it by an unoriginal
diddle.


DIDDLING. 21}
Impertinence: — Your diddler is impertinent. He
swaggers. He sets his arms a-kimbo. He thrusts his
hands in his trowsers' pockets. He sneers in your
face. He treads on your corns. He eats your din-
ner, he drinks your wine, he borrows your money, he
pulls your nose, he kicks your poodle, and he kisses
your wife.
Grin: — Your true diddler winds up all with a
grin. But this nobody sees but himself. He grins
when his daily work is done — when his allotted labors
are accomplished — at night in his own closet, and
altogether for his own private entertainment. He goes
home. He locks his door. He divests himself of his
clothes. He puts out his candle. He gets into bed.
He places his head upon the pillow. All this done,
and your diddler grins. This is no hypothesis. It is
a matter of course. I reason a priori, and a diddle
would be no diddle without a grin.
The origin of the diddle is referrible to the infancy
of the Human Race. Perhaps the first diddler was
Adam. At all events, we can trace the science back
to a very remote period of antiquity. The moderns,
however, have brought it to a perfection never dreamed
of by our thick-headed progenitors. Without pausing
to speak of the " old saws," therefore, I shall content
myself with a compendious account of some of the
more "modern instances."
A very good diddle is this. A housekeeper in want
of a sofa, for instance, is seen to go in and out of sev-
eral cabinet warehouses. At length she arrives at one
offering an excellent variety. She is accosted, and in-
vited to enter, by a polite and voluble individual at the
door. She finds a sofa well adapted to her views, and,
upon inquiring the price, is surprised and delighted to


214 TALES.
hear a sum named at least twenty per cent, lower than
her expectations. She hastens to make the purchase,
gets a bill and receipt, leaves her address, with a re-
quest that the article be sent home as speedily as possi-
ble, and retires amid a profusion of bows from the
shop-keeper. The night arrives and no sofa. The
next day passes, and still none. A servant is sent to
make inquiry about the delay. The whole transaction
is denied. No sofa has been sold — no money re-
ceived — except by the diddler who played shop-
keeper for the nonce.
Our cabinet warehouses are left entirely unattended,
and thus afford every facility for a trick of this kind.
Visiters enter, look at furniture, and depart unheeded
and unseen. Should any one wish to purchase, or to
inquire the price of an article, a bell is at hand, and
this is considered amply sufficient.
Again, quite a respectable diddle is this. A well-
dressed individual enters a shop; makes a purchase to
the value of a dollar; finds, much to his vexation, that
he has left his pocket-book in another coat pocket ; and
so says to the shop-keeper —
"My dear sir, never mind ! —just oblige me, will
you, by sending the bundle home? But stay! I
really believe that I have nothing less than a five dollar
bill, even there. However, you can send four dollars
in change with the bundle, you know."
"Very good, sir," replies the shop-keeper, who
entertains, at once, a lofty opinion of the high-minded-
ness of his customer. "I know fellows," he says to
himself, "who would just have put the goods under
their arm, and walked off with a promise to call and pay
the dollar as they came by in the afternoon."
A boy is sent with the parcel and change. On rhe


DIDDLING. 21$
route, quite accidentally, he is met by the purchaser,
who exclaims:
"Ah! this is my bundle, I see — I thought you
had been home with it, long ago. Well, go on! My
wife, Mrs. Trotter, will give you the five dollars — I
left instructions with her to that effect. The change
you might as well give to me — I shall want some sil-
ver for the Post Office. Very good! One, two, —
is this a good quarter 1 — three, four — quite right!
Say to Mrs. Trotter that you met me, and be sure
now and do not loiter on the way."
The boy does n't loiter at all — but he is a very
long time in getting back from his errand — for no
lady of the precise name of Mrs. Trotter is to be dis-
covered. He consoles himself, however, that he has
not been such a fool as to leave the goods without the
money, and re-entering his shop with a self, satisfied
air, feels sensibly hurt and indignant when his master
asks him what has become of the change.
A very simple diddle, indeed, is this. The captain
of a ship which is about to sail, is presented by an offi-
cial looking person, with an unusually moderate bill of
city charges. Glad to get off so easily, and confused
by a hundred duties pressing upon him all at once, he
discharges the claim forthwith. In about fifteen minutes,
another and less reasonable bill is handed him by one
who soon makes it evident that the first collector was a
diddler, and the original collection a diddle.
And here, too, is a somewhat similar thing. A
steamboat is casting loose from the wharf. A traveller,
portmanteau in hand, is discovered running towards the
wharf at full speed. Suddenly, he makes a dead halt,
stoops, and picks up something from the ground in a very
agitated manner. It is a pocket book, and — " Has any


216 TALES.
gentleman lost a pocket book ?" he cries. No one can
say that he has exactly lost a pocket-book; but a great
excitement ensues, when the treasure trove is found to
be of value. The boat however, must not be detained.
"Time and tide wait for no man," says the captain.
"For God's sake, stay onlya few minutes," says
the finder of the book — " the true claimant will
presently appear."
''Can't wait!" replies the man in authority;
"cast off there, d' ye hear?"
"What am I to do?" asks the finder, in great
tribulation. "I am about to leave the country for
some years, and I cannot conscientiously retain this
large amount in my possession. I beg your pardon,
sir," [here headdresses a gentleman on shore,] "but
you have the air of an honest man. Will you confer
upon me the favor of taking charge of this pocket-book
— I know I can trust you — and of advertising it?
The notes, you see, amount to a very considerable
sum. The owner will, no doubt, insist upon reward-
ing you for your trouble—"
"Me! — no, you! — it was you who found the
book."
"Well, if you must have it so— /will take a small
reward —just to satisfy your scruples. Let me see —
why these notes are all hundreds — bless my soul ! a
hundred is too much to take — fifty would be quite
enough, I am sure—"
"Cast off there!" says the captain.
"But then I have no change for a hundred, and
upon the whole, you had better—"
"Cast off there!" says the captain.
"Never mind !'' cries the gentleman on shore, who
has been examining his own pocket-book for the last


DIDDLING. 217
minute or so — " never mind! / can fix it — here is
a fifty on the Bank of North America — throw me
the book."
And the over-conscientious finder takes the fifty
with marked reluctance, and throws the gentleman the
book, as desired, while the steamboat fumes and fizzes
on her way. In about half an hour after her departure,
the "large amount " is seen to be a "counterfeit pre-
sentment," and the whole thing a capital diddle.
A bold diddle is this. A camp-meeting, or some-
thing similar, is to be held at a certain spot which is
accessible only by means of a free bridge. A diddler
stations himself upon this bridge, respectfully informs
all passers by of the new county law, which establishes
a toll of one cent for foot passengers, two for horses
and donkeys, and so forth, and so forth. Some grum-
ble but all submit, and the diddler goes home a
wealthier man by some fifty or sixty dollars well
earned. This taking a toll from a great crowd of
people is an excessively troublesome thing.
A neat diddle is this. A friend holds one of the
diddler's promises to pay, filled up and signed in due
form, upon the ordinary blanks printed in red ink.
The diddler purchases one or two dozen of these
blanks, and every day dips one of them in his soup,
makes his dog jump for it, and finally gives it to him as
a bonne bouchr. The note arriving at maturity, the
diddler, with the diddler's dog, calls upon the friend,
and the promise to pay is made the topic of discussion.
The friend produces it from his escritoire, and is in the
act of reaching it to the diddler, when up jumps the
diddler's dog and devours it forthwith. The diddler
is not only surprised but vexed and incensed at the ab-
surd behavior of his dog, and expresses his entire


218 TALES.
readiness to cancel the obligation at any moment when
the evidence of the obligation shall be forthcoming.
A very minute diddle is this. A lady is insulted in
the street by a diddler's accomplice. The diddler him-
self flies to her assistance, and, giving his friend a comfort-
able thrashing, insists upon attending the lady to her
own door. He bows, with his hand upon his heart,
and most respectfully bids her adieu. She entreats
him, as her deliverer, to walk in and be introduced to
her big brother and her papa. With a sigh, he de-
clines to do so. "Is there no way, then, sir," she
murmurs, "in which I may be permitted to testify
my gratitude?"
"Why, yes, madam, there is. Will you be kind
enough to lend me a couple of shillings ?''
In the first excitement of the moment the lady de-
cides upon fainting outright. Upon second thought,
however, she opens her purse-strings and delivers the
specie. Now this, I say, is a diddle minute — for one
entire moiety of the sum borrowed has to be paid to
the gentleman who had the trouble of performing the
insult, and who had then to stand still and be thrashed
for performing it.
Rather a small, but still a scientific diddle is this.
The diddler approaches the bar of a tavern, and de-
mands a couple of twists of tobacco. These are handed
to him, when, having slightly examined them, he says:
"I don't much like this tobacco. Here, take it back,
and give me a glass of brandy and water in its place."
The brandy and water is furnished and imbibed,
and the diddler makes his way to the door. But the
voice of the tavern-keeper arrests him.
"I believe, sir, you have forgotten to pay for your
brandy and water."


DIDDLING. 219
"Pay for my brandy and water ! — did n't I give
you the tobacco for the brandy and water? What
more would you have?"
"But sir, if you please, I don't remember that you
paid for the tobacco."
"What do you mean by that, you scoundrel ? —
Didn't I give you back your tobacco? Isn't that
your tobacco lying there T Do you expect me to pay
for what I did not take ?''
"But, sir," says the publican, now rather at a loss
what to say, "but sir —"
"But me no buts, sir," interrupts the diddler, ap-
parently in very high dudgeon, and slamming the
door after him, as he makes his escape. — " But me
no buts, sir, and none of your tricks upon travellers."
Here again is a very clever diddle, of which the
simplicity is not its least recommendation. A purse,
or pocket-book, being really lost, the loser inserts in
one of the daily papers of a large city a fully descrip-
tive advertisement.
Whereupon our diddler copies the facts of this ad-
vertisement, with a change of heading, of general
phraseology, and address. The original, for instance,
is long, and verbose, is headed "A Pocket-Book
Lost!" and requires the treasure, when found, to be
left at No. 1 Tom street. The copy is brief, and
being headed with "Lost" only, indicates No. 2
Dick, or No. 3 Harry street, as the locality at which
the owner may be seen. Moreover, it is inserted in
at least five or six of the daily papers of the day, while
in point of time, it makes its appearance only a few
hours after the original. Should it be read by the loser
of the purse, he would hardly suspect it to have any
reference to his own misfortune. But, of course, the


220 TALES.
chances are five or six to one, that the finder will re-
pair to the address given by the diddler, rather than to
that pointed out by the rightful proprietor. The
former pays the reward, pockets the treasure and de-
camps.
Quite an analogous diddle is this. A lady of ttn
has dropped, somewhere in the street, a diamond ring
of very unusual value. For its recovery, she offers
some forty or fifty dollars reward — giving, in her ad-
vertisement, a very minute description of the gem, and
of its settings, and declaring that, upon its restoration
to No. so and so, in such and such Avenue, the re-
ward will be paid instanter, without a single question
being asked. During the lady's absence from home, a
day or two afterwards, a ring is heard at the door of
No. so and so, in such and such Avenue; a servant
appears; the lady of the house is asked for and is de-
clared to be out, at which astounding information, the
visitor expresses the most poignant regret. His busi-
ness is of importance and concerns the lady herself.
In fact, he had the good fortune to find her diamond
ring. But, perhaps it would be as well that he should
call again. "By no means!" says the servant;
and "By no means!" says the lady's sister and the
lady's sister-in-law, who are summoned forthwith.
The ring is clamorously identified, the reward is paid,
and the finder nearly thrust out of doors. The lady
returns, and expresses some little dissatisfaction with
her sister and sister-in-law, because they happen to
have paid forty or fifty dollars for a fac-similt of her
diamond ring — a facsimile made out of real pinch-
beck and unquestionable paste.
But as there is really no end to diddling, so there
would be none to this essay, were I even to hint at


DIDDLING. 221
half the variations, or inflections, of which this science
is susceptible. I must bring this paper, perforce, to a
conclusion, and this I cannot do better than by a sum-
mary notice of a very decent, but rather elaborate
diddle, of which our own city was made the theatre,
not very long ago, and which was subsequently re-
peated with success, in other 'still more verdant locali-
ties of the Union. A middle-aged gentleman arrives
in town from parts unknown. He is remarkably
precise, cautious, staid, and deliberate in his demeanor.
His dress is scrupulously neat, but plain, unostenta-
tious. He wears a white cravat, an ample waistcoat,
made with an eye to comfort alone; thick-soled cosy-
looking shoes, and pantaloons without straps. He has
the whole air, in fact, of your well-to-do, sobersided,
exact, and respectable "man of business," par ex-
cellence — one of the stern and outwardly hard,
internally soft, sort of people that we see in the crack
high comedies — fellows whose words are so many
bonds, and who are noted for giving away guineas, in
charity, with the one hand, while, in the way of mere
bargain, they exact the uttermost fraction of a farthing,
with the other.
He makes much ado before he can get suited with a
boarding house. He dislikes children. He has been
accustomed to quiet. His habits are methodical —
and then he would prefer getting into a private and
respectable small family, piously inclined. Terms,
however, are no object — only he must insist upon
settling his bill on the first of every month, (it is now
the second) and begs his landlady, when he finally
obtains one to his mind, not on any account, to forget
his instructions upon this point — but to send in a bill,
and receipt, precisely at ten o'clock, on the first day


222 TALES.
of every month, and under no circumstances to put it
off to tie second.
These arrangements made, our man of business rents
an office in a reputable rather than in a fashionable
quarter of the town. There is nothing he more
despises than pretence. "Where there is much
show," he says, "there is seldom anything very solid
behind " — an observation which so profoundly im-
presses his landlady's fancy, that she makes a pencil
memorandum of it forthwith, in her great family Bible,
on the broad margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.
The next step is to advertise, after some such fashion
as this, in the principal business sixpennies of this city
— the pennies are eschewed as not "respectable" —
and as demanding payment for all advertisements in
advance. Our man of business holds it as a point of
his faith that work should never be paid for until done.
Wanted. —The advertisers, being about to commence
extensive business operations in this city, will require the
services of three or four intelligent and competent clerks,
to whom a liberal salary will be paid. The very best
recommendations, not so much for capacity, as for in-
tegrity, will be expected. Indeed, as the duties to be
performed, involve high responsibilities, and large amounts
of money must necessarily pass through the hands of those
engaged, it is deemed advisable to demand a deposit of
fifty dollars from each clerk employed. No person need
apply, therefore, who is not prepared to leave this sum in
the possession of the advertisers, and who cannot furnish
the most satisfactory testimonials of morality. Young
gentlemen piously inclined will be preferred. Applica-
tion should be made between the hours of ten and
eleven, A. M., and four and five, P. M., of Messrs.
Bogs, Hogs, Logs, Frogs, & Co.
No. 11o Dog Street.


DIDDLING. 223
By the thirty-first day of the month, this advertise-
ment has brought to the office of Messrs. Bogs, Hogs,
Logs, Frogs and Company, some fifteen or twenty
young gentlemen piously inclined. But our man of
business is in no hurry to conclude a contract with any
— no man of business is ever precipitate — and it is
not until the most rigid catechism in respect to the
piety of each young gentleman's inclination, that his
services are engaged and his fifty dollars receipted for,
just by way of proper precaution, on the part of the
respectable firm of Bogs, Hogs, Logs, Frogs and Com-
pany. On the morning of the first day of the next
month, the landlady does not present her bill accord-
ing to promise — a piece of neglect for which the
comfortable head of the house ending in ogs, would no
doubt have chided her severely, could he have been
prevailed upon to remain in town a day or two for
that purpose.
As it is, the constables have had a sad time of it,
running hither and thither, and all they can do is to
declare the man of business most emphatically, a "hen
knee high " —by which some persons imagine them
to imply that, in fact, he is n. e. i. — by which again
the very classical phrase non est inventus, is supposed
to be understood. In the meantime the young gen-
tlemen, one and all, are somewhat less piously in-
clined than before, while the landlady purchases a
shilling's worth of the best Indian rubber, and very
carefully obliterates the pencil memorandum that some
fool has made in her great family Bible, on the broad
margin of the Proverbs of Solomon.


THE BALLOON-HOAX.
[ The New Tori Sun, April 13, 1844.]
[Astounding News by Express, via Norfolk ! The
Atlantic crossed in Three Days! Signal
Triumph of Mr. Monck Mason's Flying Ma-
chine ! — Arrival at Sullivan's Island, near
Charleston, S.C., of Mr. Mason, Mr. Robert
Holland, Mr. Henson, Mr. Harrison Ains-
worth, and four others, in the steering
Balloon, "Victoria," after a Passage of
Seventy-Five Hours from Land to Land!
Full Particulars of the Voyage !]
[Nott by Pot: — The subjoined jeu £ esprit with the preceding
heading in magnificent capitals, well interspersed with notes ot'
admiration, was originally published, as matter of fact, in the
"New York Sun," a daily newspaper, and therein fully subserved
the purpose of creating indigestible aliment for the quidnuncs during
the few hours intervening between a couple of the Charleston
mails. The rush for the "sole paper which had the news," was
something beyond even the prodigious; and, in fact, if (as some
assert) the " Victoria" did not absolutely accomplish the voyage
recorded, it will be difficult to assign a reason why she should not
have accomplished it.]
The great problem is at length solved! The air,
as well as the earth and the ocean, has been subdued
by science, and will become a common and convenient
highway for mankind. The Atlantic has been actuallv
crossed in a Balloon ! and this too without difficulty —
without any great apparent danger — with thorough
(«4)


THE BALLOON-HOAX. 225
control of the machine — and in the inconceivably
brief period of seventy-five hours from shore to shore!
By the energy of an agent at Charleston, S.C., we
are enabled to be the first to furnish the public with
a detailed account of this most extraordinary voyage,
which was performed between Saturday, the 6th
instant, at 1I, A.M., and 2, P.M., on Tuesday, the
9th instant, by Sir Everard Bringhurst; Mr. Osborne,
a nephew of Lord Bentinck's ; Mr. Monck Mason and
Mr. Robert Holland, the well-known aeronauts; Mr.
Harrison Ainsworth, author of "Jack Sheppard,"
&c.; and Mr. Henson, the projector of the late unsuc-
cessful flying machine — with two seamen from Wool-
wich — in all, eight persons. The particulars furnished
below may be relied on as authentic and accurate in
every respect, as, with a slight exception, they are
copied verbatim from the joint diaries of Mr. Monck
Mason and Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, to whose polite-
ness our agent is also indebted for much verbal infor-
mation respecting the balloon itself, its construction,
and other matters of interest. The only alteration in
the MS. received, has been made for the purpose of
throwing the hurried account of our agent, Mr. For-
syth, in a connected and intelligible form.
THE BALLOON.
Two very decided failures, of late — those of Mr.
Henson and Sir George Cayley — had much weakened
the public interest in the subject of aerial navigation.
Mr. Henson's scheme (which at first was considered
very feasible even by men of science,) was founded
upon the principle of an inclined plane, started from an
eminence by an extrinsic force, applied and continued
by the revolution of impinging vanes, in form and num-
Vol. v. —15


226 TALES.
ber resembling the vanes of a windmill. But, in all
the experiments made with models at the Adelaide Gal-
lery, it was found that the operation of these fans not
only did not propel the machine, but actually impeded
its flight. The only propelling force it ever exhibited,
was the mere impetus acquired from the descent of the
inclined plane; and this impetus carried the machine
farther when the vanes were at rest, than when they
were in motion — a fact which sufficiently demonstrates
their inutility ; and in the absence of the propelling,
which was also the sustaining power, the whole fabric
would necessarily descend. This consideration led Sir
George Cayley to think only of adapting a propeller to
some machine having of itself an independent power of
support — in a word, to a balloon; the idea, however,
being novel, or original, with Sir George, only so far
as regards the mode of its application to practice. He
exhibited a model of his invention at the Polytechnic
Institution. The propelling principle, or power, was
here, also, applied to interrupted surfaces, or vanes, put
in revolution. These vanes were four in number, but
were found entirely ineffectual in moving the balloon,
or in aiding its ascending power. The whole project
was thus a complete failure.
It was at this juncture that Mr. Monck Mason
(whose voyage from Dover to Weilburg in the balloon,
"Nassau," occasioned so much excitement in 1837,)
conceived the idea of employing the principle of the
Archimedean screw for the purpose of propulsion
through the air — rightly attributing the failure of Mr.
Henson's scheme, and of Sir George Cayley's, to the
interruption of surface in the independent vanes. He
made the first public experiment at Willis's Rooms, but
afterwards removed his model to the Adelaide Gallerv.


THE BALLOON-HOAX. 227
Like Sir George Cayley's balloon, his own was an
ellipsoid. Its length was thirteen feet six inches —
height, six feet eight inches. It contained about three
hundred and twenty cubic feet of gas, which, if pure
hydrogen, would support twenty-one pounds upon its
first inflation, before the gas has time to deteriorate
or escape. The weight of the whole machine and
apparatus was seventeen pounds — leaving about four
pounds to spare. Beneath the centre of the balloon,
was a frame of light wood, about nine feet long, and
rigged on to the balloon itself with a network in the
customary manner. From this framework was sus-
pended a wicker basket or car.
The screw consists of an axis of hollow brass tube,
eighteen inches in length, through which, upon a semi-
spiral inclined at fifteen degrees, pass a series of steel
wire radii, two feet long, and thus projecting a foot on
either side. These radii are connected at the outer
extremities by two bands of flattened wire — the whole
in this manner forming the framework of the screw,
which is completed by a covering of oiled silk cut into
gores, and tightened so as to present a tolerably uni-
form surface. At each end of its axis this screw is
supported by pillars of hollow brass tube descending
from the hoop. In the lower ends of these tubes are
holes in which the pivots of the axis revolve. From
the end of the axis which is next the car, proceeds a
shaft of steel, connecting the screw with the pinion
of a piece of spring machinery fixed in the car. By
the operation of this spring, the screw is made to
revolve with great rapidity, communicating a progres-
sive motion to the whole. By means of the rudder,
the machine was readily turned in any direction. The
spring was of great power, compared with its dimen-


228 TALES.
sions, being capable of raising forty-five pounds upon a
barrel of four inches diameter, after the first turn, and
gradually increasing as it was wound up. It weighed,
altogether, eight pounds six ounces. The rudder was
a light frame of cane covered with silk, shaped some-
what like a battledoor, and was about three feet long,
and at the widest, one foot. Its weight was about
two ounces. It could be turned fiat, and directed up-
wards or downwards, as well as to the right or left;
and thus enabled the aeronaut to transfer the resistance
of the air which in an inclined position it must gener-
ate in its passage, to any side upon which he might
desire to act; thus determining the balloon in the op-
posite direction.
This model (which, through want of time, we have
necessarily described in an imperfect manner,) was put
in action at the Adelaide Gallery, where it accom-
plished a velocity of five miles per hour; although,
strange to say, it excited very little interest in com-
parison with the previous complex machine of Mr.
Henson — so resolute is the world to despise any-
thing which carries with it an air of simplicity. To
accomplish the great desideratum of aerial navigation,
it was very generally supposed that some exceedingly
complicated application must be made of some unusu-
ally profound principle in dynamics.
So well satisfied, however, was Mr. Mason of the
ultimate success of his invention, that he determined to
construct immediately, if possible, a balloon of suffi-
cient capacity to test the question by a voyage of some
extent — the original design being to cross the British
Channel, as before, in the Nassau balloon. To carry
out his views, he solicited and obtained the patronage
of Sir Everard Bringhurst and Mr. Osborne, two gen-


THE BALLOON-HOAX. 229
tie men well known for scientific acquirement, and
especially for the interest they have exhibited in the
progress of aerostation. The project, at the desire of
Mr. Osborne, was kept a profound secret from the pub-
lic — the only persons entrusted with the design being
those actually engaged in the construction of the ma-
chine, which was built (under the superintendence of
Mr. Mason, Mr. Holland, Sir Everard Bringhurst,
and Mr. Osborne,) at the seat of the latter gentleman
near Penstruthal, in Wales. Mr. Henson, accom-
panied by his friend Mr. Ainsworth, was admitted to
a private view of the balloon, on Saturday last — when
the two gentlemen made final arrangements to be in-
cluded in the adventure. We are not informed for
what reason the two seamen were also included in the
party — but, in the course of a day or two, we shall
put our readers in possession of the minutest particulars
respecting this extraordinary voyage.
The balloon is composed of silk, varnished with the
liquid gum caoutchouc. It is of vast dimensions, con-
taining more than 40000 cubic feet of gas; but as
coal gas was employed in place of the more expensive
and inconvenient hydrogen, the supporting power of
the machine, when fully inflated, and immediately
after inflation, is not more than about 2500 pounds.
The coal gas is not only much less costly, but is easily
procured and managed.
For its introduction into common use for purposes
of aerostation, we are indebted to Mr. Charles Green.
Up to his discovery, the process of inflation was not only
exceedingly expensive, but uncertain. Two, and
even three days, have frequently been wasted in futile
attempts to procure a sufficiency of hydrogen to fill a
balloon, from which it had great tendency to escape


230 TALES.
owing to its extreme subtlety, and its affinity for the
surrounding atmosphere. In a balloon sufficiently per-
fect to retain its contents of coal-gas unaltered, in
quality or amount, for six months, an equal quantity
of hydrogen could not be maintained in equal purity
for six weeks.
The supporting power being estimated at 2500
pounds, and the united weights of the party amounting
only to about 1200, there was left a surplus of 1300,
of which again 1200 was exhausted by ballast, ar-
ranged in bags of different sizes, with their respective
weights marked upon them — by cordage, barometers,
telescopes, barrels containing provision for a fortnight,
water-casks, cloaks, carpet-bags, and various other
indispensable matters, including a coffee-warmer, con-
trived for warming coffee by means of slacklime, so as
to dispense altogether with fire, if it should be judged
prudent to do so. All these articles, with the excep-
tion of the ballast, and a few trifles, were suspended
from the hoop over head. The car is much smaller
and lighter, in proportion, than the one appended to
the model. It is formed of a light wicker, and is
wonderfully strong, for so frail looking a machine. Its
rim is about four feet deep. The rudder is also very
much larger, in proportion, than that of the model;
and the screw is considerably smaller. The balloon is
furnished besides, with a grapnel, and a guide-rope;
which latter is of the most indispensable importance.
A few words, in explanation, will here be necessary
for such of our readers as are not conversant with the
details of aerostation.
As soon as the balloon quits the earth, it is subjected
to the influence of many circumstances tending to create
a difference in its weight; augmenting or diminishing its


THE BALLOON-HOAX. 231
ascending power. For example, there may be a de-
position of dew upon the silk, to the extent, even, of
several hundred pounds; ballast has then to be thrown
out, or the machine may descend. This ballast being
discarded, and a clear sunshine evaporating the dew,
and at the same rime expanding the gas in the silk, the
whole will again rapidly ascend. To check this ascent,
the only resource is, (or rather was, until Mr. Green's
invention of the guide-rope,) the permission of the
escape of gas from the valve; but, in the loss of gas,
is a proportionate general loss of ascending power; so
that, in a comparatively brief period, the best constructed
balloon must necessarily exhaust all its resources, and
come to the earth. This was the great obstacle to
voyages of length.
The guide-rope remedies the difficulty in the simplest
manner conceivable. It is merely a very long rope
which is suffered to trail from the car, and the effect
of which is to prevent the balloon from changing its
level in any material degree. If, for example, there
should be a deposition of moisture upon the silk, and
the machine begins to descend in consequence, there
will be no necessity for discharging ballast to remedy
the increase of weight, for it is remedied, or counter-
acted, in an exactly just proportion, by the deposit on
the ground of just so much of the end of the rope as is
necessary. If, on the other hand, any circumstances
should cause undue levity, and consequent ascent, this
levity is immediately counteracted by the additional
weight of rope upraised from the earth. Thus, the
balloon can neither ascend or descend, except within
very narrow limits, and its resources, either in gas or
ballast, remain comparatively unimpaired. When pass-
ing over an expanse of water, it becomes necessary to


232 TALES.
employ small kegs of copper or wood, filled with
liquid ballast of a lighter nature than water. These
float, and serve all the purposes of a mere rope on land.
Another most important office of the guide-rope, is to
point out the direction of the balloon. The rope drags,
either on land or sea, while the balloon is free; the
latter, consequently, is always in advance, when any
progress whatever is made: a comparison, therefore,
by means of the compass, of the relative positions of
the two objects, will always indicate the courst. In
the same way, the angle formed by the rope with the
vertical axis of the machine, indicates the velocity.
When there is no angle — in other words, when the
rope hangs perpendicularly, the whole apparatus is
stationary ; but the larger the angle, that is to say, the
farther the balloon precedes the end of the rope, the
greater the velocity; and the converse.
As the original design was to cross the British Chan-
nel, and alight as near Paris as possible, the voyagers
had taken the precaution to prepare themselves with
passports directed to all parts of the Continent, specify-
ing the nature of the expedition, as in the case of the
Nassau voyage, and entitling the adventurers to ex-
emption from the usual formalities of office: unexpected
events, however, rendered these passports superfluous.
The inflation was commenced very quietly at day-
break, on Saturday morning, the 6th instant, in the
Court-Yard of Wheal-Vor House, Mr. Osborne's seat,
about a mile from Penstruthal, in North Wales; and
at 7 minutes past 11, every thing being ready for
departure, the balloon was set free, rising gently but
steadily, in a direction nearly South ; no use being
made, for the first half hour, of either the screw or the
rudder. We proceed now with the journal, as tran-


THE BALLOON-HOAX. 233
scribed by Mr. Forsyth from the joint MSS. of Mr.
Monck Mason, and Mr. Ainsworth. The body of
the journal, as given, is in the hand-writing of Mr.
Mason, and a P. S. is appended, each day, by Mr.
Ainsworth, who has in preparation, and will shortly
give the public a more minute, and no doubt, a thrillingly
interesting account of the voyage.
THE JOURNAL.
Saturday, April the 6tb. — Every preparation likely to
embarrass us, having been made over night, we com-
menced the inflation this morning at daybreak; but ow-
ing to a thick fog, which encumbered the folds of the
silk and rendered it unmanageable, we did not get through
before nearly eleven o'clock. Cut loose, then, in high
spirits, and rose gently but steadily, with a light breeze at
North, which bore us in the direction of the British Chan-
nel. Found the ascending force greater than we had ex-
pected; and as we arose higher and so got clear of the
cliffs, and more in the sun's rays, our ascent became very
rapid. I did not wish, however, to lose gas at so early
a period of the adventure, and so concluded to ascend
for the present. We soon ran out our guide-rope; but
even when we had raised it clear of the earth, we still
went up very rapidly. The balloon was unusually steady,
and looked beautifully. In about ten minutes after start-
ing, the barometer indicated an altitude of 15,000 feet.
The weather was remarkably fine, and the view of the
subjacent country — a most romantic one when seen from
any point, — was now especially sublime. The numer-
ous deep gorges presented the appearance of lakes, on
account of the dense vapors with which they were filled,
and the pinnacles and crags to the South East, piled in
inextricable confusion, resembled nothing so much as the
giant cities of eastern fable. We were rapidly approach-
ing the mountains in the South j but our elevation
was more than sufficient to enable us to pass them in


234 TALES.
safety. In a few minutes we soared over them in fine
stvle; and Mr. Ainsworth, with the yimm, were sur-
prised at their apparent want of ahitndc when viewed
from the car, the tendencv of great deration in a bal-
loon being to reduce inequalities of the surface below, to
nearly a dead loci. At half-past eleven still proceeding
nearly South, we obtained our first view of the Bristol
Channel j and, in fifteen minutes afterwards, the line of
breakers on the coast appeared immediately beneath us, and
we were fairly out at sea. We now resolved to let off
enough gas to bring our guide-rope, with the buoys affixed,
into the water. This was immediately done, and we com-
menced a gradual descent. In about twentv minutes
our first buoy dipped, and at the touch of the second
toon afterwards, we remained stationary as to elevation.
We were all now anxious to test the efficiencv of the
rudder and screw, and we put them both into requisition
forthwith, for the purpose of altering our direction more to
the eastward, and in a line for Parts. By means of the
rudder we instantly effected the necessary change of di-
rection, and our course was brought nearly at right angles
to that of the wind; when we set in motion the spring
of the screw, and were rejoiced to find it propel us read-
ily as desired. Upon this we gave nine hearty cheers,
and dropped in the sea a bottle, enclosing a slip of parch-
ment with a brief account of the principle of the inven-
tion. Hardly, however, had we done with our rejoicings,
when an unforeseen accident occurred which discouraged
as in no little degree. The steel rod connecting the
spring with the propeller was suddenly jerked out of
place, at the car end, (by a swaying of the car through
some movement of one of the two seamen we had taken
up,) and in an instant hung dangling out of reach, from the
pivot of the axis of the screw. While we were endeav-
oring to regain it, our attention being completely ab-
sorbed, we became involved in a strong current of wind
from the East, which bore us, with rapidly increasing
force, towards the Atlantic We soon found ourselves


THE BALLOON-HOAX. 235
driving out to sea at the rate of not less, certainly, than
fifty or sixty miles an hour, so that we came up with
Cape Clear, at some forty miles to our North, before we
had secured the rod, and had time to think what we were
about. It was now that Mr. Ainsworth made an ex-
traordinary, but to my fancy, a by no means unreason-
able or chimerical proposition, in which he was instantly
seconded by Mr. Holland — viz.: that we should take
advantage of the strong gale which bore us on, and in
place of beating back to Paris, make an attempt to reach
the coast of North America. After slight reflection I
gave a willing assent to this bold proposition, which
(strange to say) met with objection from the two sea-
men only. As the stronger party, however, we over-
ruled their fears, and kept resolutely upon our course.
We steered due West; but as the trailing of the buoys
materially impeded our progress, and we had the balloon
abundantly at command, either for ascent or descent, we
first threw out fifty pounds of ballast, and then wound
up (by means of a windlass) so much of a rope as brought
it quite clear of the sea. We perceived the effect of this
manoeuvre immediately, in a vastly increased rate of
progress; and, as the gale freshened, we flew with a
velocity nearly inconceivable; the guide-rope flying out
behind the car, like a streamer from a vessel. It is need-
less to say that a very short time sufficed us to lose sight
of the coast. We passed over innumerable vessels of all
kinds, a few of which were endeavoring to beat up, but
the most of them lying to. We occasioned the greatest
excitement on board all — an excitement greatly relished
by ourselves, and especially by our two men, who, now
under the influence of a dram of Geneva, seemed resolved
to give all scruple, or fear, to the wind. Many of the
vessels fired signal guns; and in all we were saluted
with loud cheers (which we heard with surprising dis-
tinctness) and the waving of caps and handkerchiefs.
We kept on in this manner throughout the day, with no
material incident, and, as the shades of night closed


236 TALES.
around us, we made a rough estimate of the distance
traversed. It could not have been less than five hundred
miles, and was probably much more. The propeller
was kept in constant operation, and, no doubt, aided
our progress materially. As the sun went down, the
gale freshened into an absolute hurricane, and the ocean
beneath was clearly visible on account of its phospho-
rescence. The wind was from the East all night, and
gave us the brightest omen of success. We suffered no
little from cold, and the dampness of the atmosphere was
most unpleasant; but the ample space in the car enabled
us to lie down, and by means of cloaks and a few blan-
kets, we did sufficiently well.
P.S. (by Mr. Ainsworth). The last nine hours have
been unquestionably the most exciting of my life. I can
conceive nothing more sublimating than the strange peril
and novelty of an adventure such as this. May God
grant that we succeed! I ask not success for mere safety
to my insignificant person, but for the sake of human
knowledge and — for the vast ness of the triumph. And
yet the feat is only so evidently feasible that the sole wonder
is why men have scrupled to attempt it before. One sin-
gle gale such as now befriends us — let such a tempest
whirl forward a balloon for four or five days (these gales
often last longer) and the voyager will be easily borne, in
that period, from coast to coast. In view of such a gale
the broad Atlantic becomes a mere lake. I am more
struck, just now, with the supreme silence which reigns
in the sea beneath us, notwithstanding its agitation, than
with any other phenomenon presenting itself. The waters
give up no voice to the heavens. The immense flaming
ocean writhes and is tortured uncomplainingly. The
mountainous surges suggest the idea of innumerable
dumb gigantic fiends struggling in impotent agony. In a
night such as is this to me, a man lives — lives a whole
century of ordinary life — nor would I forego this raptur-
ous delight for that of a whole century of ordinary exist-
ence.


THE BALLOON-HOAX. 237
Sunday, the seventh. [Mr. Mason's MS.] This
morning the gale, by 1 o, had subsided to an eight or nine
knot breeze, (for a vessel at sea,) and bears us, perhaps,
thirty miles per hour, or more. It has veered however,
very considerably to the north ; and now, at sundown, we
are holding our course due west, principally by the screw
and rudder, which answer their purposes to admiration.
I regard the project as thoroughly successful, and the
easy navigation of the air in any direction (not exactly in
the teeth of a gale) as no longer problematical. We
could not have made head against the strong wind of
yesterday ; but, by ascending, we might have got out of
its influence, if requisite. Against a pretty stiff breeze, I
feel convinced, we can make our way with the propeller.
At noon, to-day, ascended to an elevation of nearly
25,000 feet, by discharging ballast. Did this to search
for a more direct current, but found none so favorable as
the one we are now in. We have an abundance of gas
to take us across this small pond, even should the voyage
last three weeks. I have not the slightest fear for the
result. The difficulty has been strangely exaggerated
and misapprehended. I can choose my current, and
should I find all currents against me, I can make very
tolerable headway with the propeller. We have had no
incidents worth recording. The night promises fair.
P.S. [By Mr. Ainsworth.] I have little to record,
except the fact (to me quite a surprising one) that, at an
elevation equal to that of Cotopaxi, I experienced neither
very intense cold, nor headache, nor difficulty of breath-
ing; neither, I find, did Mr. Mason, nor Mr. Holland,
nor Sir Everard. Mr. Osbome complained of constriction
of the chest — but this soon wore off. We have flown at
a great rate during the day, and we must be more than
half way across the Atlantic. We have passed over some
twenty or thirty vessels of various kinds, and all seem to
be delightfully astonished. Crossing the ocean in a bal-
loon is not so difficult a feat after all. Omne ignotum pro
magnified. Mem: at 25,000 feet elevation the sky


238 TALES.
appears nearly black, and the stars are distinctly visible;
while the sea does not seem convex (as one might suppose)
but absolutely and most unequivocally concave,1
Monday, the 8th. [Mr. Mason's MS.] This morn-
ing we had again some little trouble with the rod of the
propeller, which must be entirely remodelled, for fear of
serious accident — I mean the steel rod not the vanes.
The latter could not be improved. The wind has been
blowing steadily and strongly from the northeast all day;
and so far fortune seems bent upon favoring us. Just
before day, we were all somewhat alarmed at some odd
noises and concussions in the balloon, accompanied with
the apparent rapid subsidence of the whole machine.
These phenomena were occasioned by the expansion of
the gas, through increase of heat in the atmosphere, and
the consequent disruption of the minute particles of ice
with which the network had become encrusted during the
night. Threw down several bottles to the vessels below.
Saw one of them picked up by a large ship — seemingly
one of the New York line packets. Endeavored to make
1 Note. — Mr. Ainsworth has not attempted to account for this
phenomena, which, however, is quite susceptible of explanation. A
line dropped from an elevation of 25,000 feet, perpendicularly to
the surface of the earth (or sea), would form the perpendicular of
a right-angled triangle, of which the base would extend from the
right angle to the horizon, and the hypothenuse from the horizon
to the balloon. But the 25,000 feet of altitude is little or nothing,
in comparison with the extent of the prospect. In other words,
the base and hypothenuse of the supposed triangle would be so long
when compared with the perpendicutar that the two former may
be regarded as nearly parallel. In this manner the horizon of the
aeronaut would appear to be on a level with the car. But, as the
point immediately beneath him seems, and is, at a great distance
below him, it seems, of course, also, at a great distance below the
horizon. Hence the impression of concavity; and this impression
must remain, until the elevation shall bear so great a proportion to
the extent of prospect, that the apparent parallelism of the base and
hypothenuse disappears — when the earth's real convexity must
become apparent.


THE BALLOON-HOAX. 239
out her name, but could not be sure of it. Mr. Osborne's
telescope made it out something like " Atalanta." It is
now 12, at night, and we are still going nearly west, at
a rapid pace. The sea is peculiarly phosphorescent.
P.S. [By Mr. Ainsworth.] It is now a, a. m.,
and nearly calm, as well as I can judge — but it is very
difficult to determine this point, since we move with the
air so completely. I have not slept since quitting Wheal-
Vor, but can stand it no longer, and must take a nap.
We cannot be far from the American coast.
Tuesday, the gtb. [Mr. Ainsworth's MS.] One,
P. M. We are in full vieiv of the ltnv coast of South
Carolina. The great problem is accomplished. We
have crossed the Atlantic — fairly and easilv crossed it
in a balloon! God be praised! Who shall say that any-
thing is impossible hereafter?
The Journal here ceases. Some particulars of the
descent were communicated, however, by Mr. Ains-
worth to Mr. Forsyth. It was nearly dead calm
when the voyagers first came in view of the coast,
which was immediately recognised by both the sea-
men, and by Mr. Osborne. The latter gentleman
having acquaintances at Fort Moultrie, it was imme-
diately resolved to descend in its vicinity. The balloon
was brought over the beach (the tide being out and
the sand hard, smooth, and admirably adapted for a
descent,) and the grapnel let go, which took firm hold
at once. The inhabitants of the island, and of the
fort, thronged out, of course, to see the balloon; but
it was with the greatest difficulty that any one could
be made to credit the actual voyage — the crossing of
the Atlantic. The grapnel caught at 2, P. M., pre-
cisely; and thus the whole voyage was completed in


24° TALES.
seventy-five hours ; or rather less, counting from shore
to shore. No serious accident occurred. No real
danger was at any time apprehended. The balloon
was exhausted and secured without trouble ; and when
the MS. from which this narrative is compiled was
despatched from Charleston, the party were still at
Fort Moultrie. Their farther intentions were not as-
certained; but we can safely promise our readers some
additional information either on Monday or in the
course of the next day, at farthest.
This is unquestionably the most stupendous, the
most interesting, and the most important undertaking,
ever accomplished or even attempted by man. What
magnificent events may ensue, it would be useless now
to think of determining.


MESMERIC REVELATION.
[Columbian Magazine, August, 1844; 1845' — Text corrected
by y. L. Graham copy.]
Whatever doubt may still envelop the rationale
of mesmerism, its startling facts are now almost uni-
versally admitted. Of these latter, those who doubt,
are your mere doubters by profession — an unprofitable
and disreputable tribe. There can be no more abso-
lute waste of time than the attempt to prove, at the
present day, that man, by mere exercise of will, can
so impress his fellow, as to cast him into an abnormal
condition, of which the phenomena resemble very
closely those of death, or at least resemble them more
nearly than they do the phenomena of any other
normal condition within our cognizance; that, while
in this state, the person so impressed employs only
with effort, and then feebly, the external organs of
sense, yet perceives, with keenly refined perception,
and through channels supposed unknown, matters
beyond the scope of the physical organs; that, more-
over, his intellectual faculties are wonderfully exalted
and invigorated; that his sympathies with the person
so impressing him are profound; and, finally, that his
susceptibility to the impression increases with its fre-
quency, while, in the same proportion, the peculiar
phenomena elicited are more extended and more pro-
nounced.
Vou V. —16
(HO


242 TALES.
I say that these — which are the laws of mesmerism
in its general features — it would be supererogation to
demonstrate; nor shall I inflict upon my readers so
needless a demonstration to-day. My purpose at
present is a very different one indeed. 1 am impelled,
even in the teeth of a world of prejudice, to detail
without comment the very remarkable substance of a
colloquy, occurring between a sleep-waker and myself.
I had been long in the habit of mesmerizing the
person in question, (Mr. Vankirk,) and the usual
acute susceptibility and exaltation of the mesmeric per-
ception had supervened. For many months he had
been laboring under confirmed phthisis, the more dis-
tressing effects of which had been relieved by my
manipulations; and on the night of Wednesday, the
fifteenth instant, I was summoned to his bedside.
The invalid was suffering with acute pain in the
region of the heart, and breathed with great difficulty,
having all the ordinary symptoms of asthma. In
spasms such as these he had usually found relief from
the application of mustard to the nervous centres, but
to-night this had been attempted in vain.
As I entered his room he greeted me with a cheer-
ful smile, and although evidently in much bodily pain,
appeared to be, mentally, quite at ease.
"I sent for you to-night," he said, "not so much
to administer to my bodily ailment, as to satisfy me con-
cerning certain psychal impressions which, of late, have
occasioned me much anxiety and surprise. I neep not
tell you how sceptical I have hitherto been on the
topic of the soul's immortality. I cannot deny that
there has always existed, as if in that very soul which
I have been denying, a vague half-sentiment of its
own existence. But this half-sentiment at no time


MESMERIC REVELATION. 243
amounted to conviction. With it my reason had
nothing to do. All attempts at logical inquiry resulted,
indeed, in leaving me more sceptical than before. I
had been advised to study Cousin. I studied him in
his own works as well as in those of his European and
American echoes. The 'Charles Elwood' of Mr.
Brownson, for example, was placed in my hands. I
read it with profound attention. Throughout I found
it logical, but the portions which were not merelv
logical were unhappily the initial arguments of the dis-
believing hero of the book. In his summing up it
seemed evident to me that the reasoner had not even
succeeded in convincing himself. His end had plainly
forgotten his beginning, like the government of Trin-
culo. In short, I was not long in perceiving that if
man is to be intellectually convinced of his own im-
mortality, he will never be so convinced by the mere
abstractions which have been so long the fashion of
the moralists of England, of France, and of Germany.
Abstractions may amuse and exercise, but take no hold
on the mind. Here upon earth, at least, philosophy,
I am persuaded, will always in vain call upon us to
look upon qualities as things. The will may assent —
the soul — the intellect, never.
"I repeat, then, that I only half felt, and never
intellectually believed. But latterly there has been a
certain deepening of the feeling, until it has come so
nearly to resemble the acquiescence of reason, that I
find it difficult to distinguish between the two. I am
enabled, too, plainly to trace this effect to the mesmeric
influence. I cannot better explain my meaning than
by the hypothesis that the mesmeric exaltation enables
me to perceive a train of ratiocination which, in my
abnormal existence, convinces, but which, in full


244 TALES.
accordance with the mesmeric phenomena, does not
extend, except through its effect, into my norma! con-
dition. In sleep-waking, the reasoning and its con-
clusion — the cause and its effect — are present
together. In my natural state, the cause vanishing,
the effect only, and perhaps only partially, remains.
"These considerations have led me to think that
some good results might ensue from a series of well-
directed questions propounded to me while mesmerized.
You have often observed the profound self-cognizance
evinced by the sleep-waker — the extensive knowledge
he displays upon all points relating to the mesmeric
condition itself; and from this self-cognizance may be
deduced hints for the proper conduct of a catechism."
I consented of course to make this experiment. A
few passes threw Mr. Vankirk into the mesmeric
sleep. His breathing became immediately more easy,
and he seemed to suffer no physical uneasiness. The
following conversation then ensued : — V. in the dia-
logue representing the patient, and P. myself.
P. Are you asleep?
V. Yes — no; I would rather sleep more soundly.
P. \After a few more passes,,] Do you sleep now?
V. Yes.
P. How do you think your present illness will
result?
V. \After a long hesitation and speaking as if Kitb
effort.] I must die.
P. Does the idea of death afflict you?
V. [Very quickly.'] No — no!
P. Are you pleased with the prospect?
V. If I were awake I should like to die, but now
it is no matter. The mesmeric condition is so near
death as to content me.


MESMERIC REVELATION. 245
P. I wish you would explain yourself, Mr.
Vankirk.
^. I un willing to do so, but it requires more
effort than I feel able to make. You do not question
me properly.
P. What then shall I ask?
V. You must begin at the beginning.
P. The beginning! but where is the beginning?
V. You know that the beginning is God. \Tbis
was said in a low, fluctuating tone, and with every sign
of the most profound veneration^
P. What then is God?
V. [Hesitating for many minutes.] I cannot tell.
P. Is not God spirit?
V. While I was awake I knew what you meant by
"spirit," but now it seems only a word — such for
instance as truth, beauty—a quality, I mean.
P. Is not God immaterial?
V. There is no immateriality — it is a mere word.
That which is not matter, is not at all -— unless qual-
ities are things.
P. Is God, then, material?
V. No. [This reply startled me very much.]
P. What then is he?
V. [After a long pause, and mutteringly.] I see
— but it is a thing difficult to tell. [Another long
pause.] He is not spirit, for he exists. Nor is he
matter, as you understand it. But there are gradations
of matter of which man knows nothing; the grosser
impelling the finer, the finer pervading the grosser.
The atmosphere, for example, impels the electric prin-
ciple, while the electric principle permeates the atmo-
sphere. These gradations of matter increase in rarity
or fineness, until we arrive at a matter unpartided —


246 TALES.
without particles — indivisible — one; and here the
law of impulsion and permeation is modified. The
ultimate, or unparticled matter, not only permeates all
things but impels all things — and thus is all things
within itself. This matter is God. What men at-
tempt to embody in the word "thought," is this mat-
ter in motion.
P. The metaphysicians maintain that all action is
reducible to motion and thinking, and that the latter is
the origin of the former.
V. Yes; and I now see the confusion of idea.
Motion is the action of mind—not of thinking. The
unparticled matter, or God, in quiescence, is (as nearly
as we can conceive it) what men call mind. And the
power of self-movement (equivalent in effect to human
volition) is, in the unparticled matter, the result of its
unity and omniprevalence ; bow I know not, and now
clearly see that I shall never know. But the unparti-
cled matter, set in motion by a law, or quality, existing
within itself, is thinking.
P. Can you give me no more precise idea of what
you term the unparticled matter?
V. The matters of which man is cognizant, escape
the senses in gradation. We have, for example, a
metal, a piece of wood, a drop of water, the atmo-
sphere, a gas, caloric, electricity, the luminiferous ether.
Now we call all these things matter, and embrace
all matter in one general definition ; but in spite of this,
there can be no two ideas more essentially distinct than
that which we attach to a metal, and that which we
attach to the luminiferous ether. When we reach the
latter, we feel an almost irresistible inclination to class
it with spirit, or with nihility. The only consideration
which restrains us is our conception of its atomic con-


MESMERIC REVELATION. 247
stitution ; and here, even, we have to seek aid from our
notion of an atom, as something possessing in infinite
minuteness, solidity, palpability, weight. Destroy the
idea of the atomic constitution and we should no longer
be able to regard the ether as an entity, or at least as
matter. For want of a better word we might term it
spirit. Take, now, a step beyond the luminiferous
ether — conceive a matter as much more rare than the
ether, as this ether is more rare than the metal, and we
arrive at once (in spite of all the school dogmas) at a
unique mass — an unparticled matter. For although
we may admit infinite littleness in the atoms themselves,
the infinitude of littleness in the spaces between them
is an absurdity. There will be a point — there will
be a degree of rarity, at which, if the atoms are suffi-
ciently numerous, the interspaces must vanish, and the
mass absolutely coalesce. But the consideration of the
atomic constitution being now taken away, the nature
of the mass inevitably glides into what we con-
ceive of spirit. It is clear, however, that it is as fully
matter as before. The truth is, it is impossible to con-
ceive spirit, since it is impossible to imagine what is not.
When we flatter ourselves that we have formed its
conception, we have merely deceived our understand-
ing by the consideration of infinitely rarified matter.
P. There seems to me an insurmountable objection
to the idea of absolute coalescence ;— and that is the
very slight resistance experienced by the heavenly
bodies in their revolutions through space — a resistance
now ascertained, it is true, to exist in some degree, but
which is, nevertheless, so slight as to have been quite
overlooked by the sagacity even of Newton. We
know that the resistance of bodies is, chiefly, in pro-
portion to their density. Absolute coalescence is abso-


248 TALES.
lute density. Where there are no interspaces, there
can be no yielding. An ether, absolutely dense, would
put an infinitely more effectual stop to the progress of a
star than would an ether of adamant or of iron.
V. Your objection is answered with an ease which
is nearly in the ratio of its apparent unanswerability. —
As regards the progress of the star, it can make no
difference whether the star passes through the ether or
the ether through it. There is no astronomical error
more unaccountable than that which reconciles the
known retardation of the comets with the idea of their
passage through an ether: for, however rare this ether
be supposed, it would put a stop to all sidereal revo-
lution in a very far briefer period than has been ad-
mitted by those astronomers who have endeavored to
slur over a point which they found it impossible to
comprehend. The retardation actually experienced is,
on the other hand, about that which might be expected
from the friction of the ether in the instantaneous pas-
sage through the orb. In the one case, the retarding
force is momentary and complete within itself— in
the other it is endlessly accumulative.
P. But in all this — in _ this identification of mere
matter with God — is there nothing of irreverence?
[/ was forced to repeat this question before the sleep-
to aker fully comprehended my meaning.]
V. Can you say why matter should be less rever-
enced than mind? But you forget that the matter of
which I speak is, in all respects, the very "mind"
or "spirit" of the schools, so far as regards its
high capacities, and is, moreover, the "matter'' of
these schools at the same time. God, with all the
powers attributed to spirit, is but the perfection of
matter.


MESMERIC REVELATION. 249
P. You assert, then, that the unparticled matter,
in motion, is thought?
V. In general, this motion is the universal thought
of the universal mind. This thought creates. All
created things are but the thoughts of God.
P. You say, "in general."
V. Yes. The universal mind is God. For new
individualities, matter is necessary.
P. But you now speak of " mind" and "matter"
as do the metaphysicians.
V. Yes — to avoid confusion. When I say
"mind," I mean the unparticled or ultimate matter;
by "matter," I intend all else.
P. You were saying that "for new individualities
matter is necessary."
V. Yes; for mind, existing unincorporate, is
merely God. To create individual, thinking beings,
it was necessary to incarnate portions of the divine
mind. Thus man is individualized. Divested of cor-
porate investiture, he were God. Now, the particu-
lar motion of the incarnated portions of the unparticled
matter is the thought of man; as the motion of the
whole is that of God.
P. You say that divested of the body man will be
God?
V. [After much hesitation.^ I could not have
said this; it is an absurdity.
P. \Referring to my notes,.] You did say that
"divested of corporate investiture man were God."
V. And this is true. Man thus divested would be
God — would be unindividualized. But he can never
be thus divested — at least never will be — else we
must imagine an action of God returning upon itself—
a purposeless and futile action. Man is a creature.


250 TALES.
Creatures are thoughts of God. It is the nature cf
thought to be irrevocable.
P. I do not comprehend. You say that man will
never put off the body?
V. I say that he will never be bodiless.
P. Explain.
V. There are two bodies — the rudimental and the
complete; corresponding with the two conditions of
the worm and the butterfly. What we call "death,"
is but the painful metamorphosis. Our present incar-
nation is progressive, preparatory, temporary. Our
future is perfected, ultimate, immortal. The ultimate
life is the full design.
P. But of the worm's metamorphosis we are palpa-
bly cognizant.
V. We, certainly — but not the worm. The mat-
ter of which our rudimental body is composed, is within
the ken of the organs of that body ; or, more distinctly,
our rudimental organs are adapted to the matter of
which is formed the rudimental body; but not to that
of which the ultimate is composed. The ultimate
body thus escapes our rudimental senses, and we per-
ceive only the shell which falls, in decaying, from the
inner form ; not that inner form itself; but this inner
form, as well as the shell, is appreciable by those who
have already acquired the ultimate life.
P. You have often said that the mesmeric state very
nearly resembles death. How is this?
/'. When I say that it resembles death, I mean
that it resembles the ultimate life; for when I am
entranced the senses of my rudimental life are in abey-
ance, and I perceive external things directly, without
organs, through a medium which I shall employ in the
ultimate, unorganized life.


MESMERIC REVELATION. 251
P. Unorganized?
V. Yes; organs are contrivances by which the in-
dividual is brought into sensible relation with particular
classes and forms of matter, to the exclusion of other
classes and forms. The organs of man are adapted to
his rudimental condition, and to that only ; his ultimate
condition, being unorganized, is of unlimited compre-
hension in all points but one — the nature of the voli-
tion of God — that is to say, the motion of the unpar-
ticled matter. You will have a distinct idea of the
ultimate body by conceiving it to be entire brain.
This it is not; but a conception of this nature will
bring you near a comprehension of what it is. A
luminous body imparts vibration to the luminiferous
ether. The vibrations generate similar ones within the
retina; these again communicate similar ones to the
optic nerve. The nerve conveys similar ones to
the brain; the brain, also, similar ones to the unpar-
ticled matter which permeates it. The motion of this
latter is thought, of which perception is the first undu-
lation. This is the mode by which the mind of the
rupimental life communicates with the external world;
and this external world is, to the rudimental life,
limited, through the idiosyncrasy of its organs. But
in the ultimate, unorganized life, the external world
reaches the whole body, (which is of a substance hav-
ing affinity to brain, as I have said,) with no other
intervention than that of an infinitely rarer ether than
even the luminiferous; and to this ether — in unison
with it — the whole body vibrates, setting in motion
the unparticled matter which permeates it. It is
to the absence of idiosyncratic organs, therefore,
that we must attribute the nearly unlimited percep-
tion of the ultimate life. To rudimental beings,


252 TALES.
organs are the cages necessary to confine them until
fledged.
P. You speak of rudimental "beings." Are there
other rudimental thinking beings than man?
V.. The multitudinous conglomeration of rare matter
into nebula:, planets, suns, and other bodies which are
neither nebulae, suns, nor planets, is for the sole pur-
pose of supplying pabulum for the idiosyncrasy of the
organs of an infinity of rudimental beings. But for the
necessity of the rudimental, prior to the ultimate life,
there would have been no bodies such as these. Each
of these is tenanted by a distinct variety of organic,
rudimental, thinking creatures. In all, the organs vary
with the features of the place tenanted. At death, or
metamorphosis, these creatures, enjoying the ultimate
life — immortality — and cognizant of all secrets but
the one, act all things and pass everywhere by mere
volition : — indwelling, not the stars, which to us seem
the sole palpabilities, and for the accommodation of
which we blindly deem space created — but that space
itself—that infinity of which the truly substantive
vastness swallows up the star-shadows — blotting them
out as non-entities from the perception of the angels.
P. You say that "but for the necessity of the rudi-
mental life" there would have been no stars. But why
this necessity?
/'. In the inorganic life, as well as in the inorganic
matter generally, there is nothing to impede the action
of one simple unique law — the Divine Volition. With
the view of producing impediment, the organic life and
matter, (complex, substantial, and law-encumbered,)
were contrived.
P. But again — why need this impediment have
been produced?


MESMERIC REVELATION. 253
V. The result of law inviolate is perfection — right
— negative happiness. The result of law violate is im-
perfection, wrong, positive pain. Through the im-
pediments afforded by the number, complexity, and
substantiality of the laws of organic life and matter, the
violation of law is rendered, to a certain extent, prac-
ticable. Thus pain, which in the inorganic life is im-
possible, is possible in the organic.
P. But to what good end is pain thus rendered
possible?
V. All things are either good or bad by compari-
son. A sufficient analysis will show that pleasure, in
all cases, is but the contrast of pain. Positive pleasure
is a mere idea. To be happy at any one point we
must have suffered at the same. Never to suffer would
have been never to have been blessed. But it has been
shown that, in the inorganic life, pain cannot be; thus
the necessity for the organic. The pain of the primi-
tive life of Earth, is the sole basis of the bliss of the
ultimate life in Heaven.
P. Still, there is one of your expressions which I
find it impossible to comprehend — " the truly substan-
tive vastness of infinity."
V. This, probably, is because you have no sufE-
ciently generic conception of the term "substance"
itself. We must not regard it as a quality, but as a
sentiment: — it is the perception, in thinking beings, of
the adaptation of matter to their organization. There
are many things on the Earth, which would be nihility
to the inhabitants of Venus — many things visible and
tangible in Venus, which we could not be brought to
appreciate as existing at all. But to the inorganic
beings — to the angels — the whole of the unparticlcd
matter is substance; that is to say, the whole of what


Z$4 TALES.
we term " spice " is to them the truest substantiality ;—
the stars, meantime, through what we consider their
materiality, escaping the angelic sense, just in propor-
tion as the unparticled matter, through what we con-
sider its immateriality, eludes the organic.
As the sleep-waker pronounced these latter words,
in a feeble tone, I observed on his countenance a sin-
gular expression, which somewhat alarmed me, and
induced me to awake him at once. No sooner had
I done this, than, with a bright smile irradiating
all his features, he fell back upon his pillow and ex-
pired. I noticed that in less than a minute after-
ward his corpse had all the stern rigidity of stone. His
brow was of the coldness of ice. Thus, ordinarily,
should it have appeared, only after long pressure from
Azrael's hand. Had the sleep-waker, indeed, during
the latter portion of his discourse, been addressing me
from out the region of the shadows?


THE PREMATURE BURIAL.
\Appeared in August, 1844, in an unknown Philadelphia periodical ^
Broadiuay Journal, I. 24.]
There are certain themes of which the interest is
all-absorbing, but which are too entirely horrible for
the purposes of legitimate fiction. These the mere
romanticist must eschew, if he do not wish to offend,
or to disgust. They are with propriety handled, only
when the severity and majesty of Truth sanctify and
sustain them. We thrill, for example, with the most
intense of "pleasurable pain," over the accounts of
the Passage of the Beresina, of the Earthquake at Lisbon,
of the Plague at London, of the Massacre of St.
Bartholomew, or of the stifling of the hundred and
twenty-three prisoners in the Black Hole at Calcutta.
But, in these accounts, it is the fact — it is the reality
— it is the history which excites. As inventions, we
should regard them with simple abhorrence.
I have mentioned some few of the more prominent
and august calamities on record; but, in these, it is the
extent, not less than the character of the calamity,
which so vividly impresses the fancy. I need not re-
mind the reader that, from the long and weird catalogue
of human miseries, I might have selected many individual
instances more replete with essential suffering than any
of these vast generalities of disaster. The true wretch-
edness, indeed — the ultimate woe — is particular, not
(*55)


256 TALES.
diffuse. That the ghastly extremes of agony arc en-
dured by man the unit, and never by man the ma« —
for this let us thank a merciful God!
To be buried while alive, is, beyond question, the
most terrific of these extremes which has ever fallen to
the lot of mere mortality. That it has frequently, very
frequently, so fallen, will scarcely be denied by those
who think. The boundaries which divide Life from
Death, are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall
say where the one ends, and where the other begins?
We know that there are diseases in which occur
total cessations of all the apparent functions of
vitality, and yet in which these cessations are
merely suspensions, properly so called. They are
only temporary pauses in the incomprehensible mech-
anism. A certain period elapses, and some unseen
mysterious principle again sets in motion the magic
pinions and the wizard wheels. The silver cord was
not for ever loosed, nor the golden bowl irreparably
broken. But where, meantime, was the soul?
Apart, however, from the inevitable conclusion, a
priori, that such causes must produce such effects —
that the well known occurrence of such cases of sus-
pended animation must naturally give rise, now and
then, to premature interments — apart from this con-
sideration, we have the direct testimony of medical and
ordinary experience, to prove that a vast number of
such interments have actually taken place. I might
refer at once, if necessary, to a hundred well authenticated
instances. One of very remarkable character, and of
which the circumstances may be fresh in the memory
of some of my readers, occurred, not very long ago,
in the neighboring city of Baltimore, where it occasioned
a painful, intense, and widely extended excitement.


THE PREMATURE BURIAL. 257
The wife of one of the most respectable citizens — a
lawyer of eminence and a member of Congress — was
seized with a sudden and unaccountable illness, which
completely baffled the skill of her physicians. After
much suffering she died, or was supposed to die. No
one suspected, indeed, or had reason to suspect, that she
was not actually dead. She presented all the ordinary
appearances of death. The face assumed the usual
pinched and sunken outline. The lips were of the
usual marble pallor. The eyes were lustreless. There
was no warmth. Pulsation had ceased. For three
days the body was preserved unburied, during which it
had acquired a stony rigidity. The funeral, in short,
was hastened, on account of the rapid advance of what
was supposed to be decomposition.
The lady was deposited in her family vault, which,
for three subsequent years, was undisturbed. At the
expiration of this term, it was opened for the reception
of a sarcophagus ; — but, alas! how fearful a shock
awaited the husband, who, personally, threw open the
door. As its portals swung outwardly back, some white-
apparelled object fell rattling within his arms. It was
the skeleton of his wife in her yet unmouldered shroud.
A careful investigation rendered it evident that she
had revived within two days after her entombment —
that her struggles within the coffin had caused it to fall
from a ledge, or shelf, to the floor, where it was so
broken as to permit her escape. A lamp which had
been accidentally left, full of oil, within the tomb, was
found empty ; it might have been exhausted, however,
by evaporation. On the uppermost of the steps which
led down into the dread chamber, was a large frag-
ment of the coffin, with which it seemed that she had
endeavored to arrest attention, by striking the iron door.
Vol. V. - 17


2;8 TALES.
While thus occupied, she probably swooned, or possiblv
died, through sheer terror; and, in falling, her shroud
became entangled in some iron-work which projected
interiorly. Thus she remained, and thus she rotted,
erect.
In the year 1810, a case of living inhumation
happened in France, attended with circumstances which
go far to warrant the assertion that truth is, indeed,
stranger than fiction. The heroine of the story was a
Mademoiselle Victorine Lafburcade, a young girl of
illustrious family, of wealth, and of great personal
beauty. Among her numerous suitors was Julien
Bossuet, a poor litterateur, or journalist, of Paris.
His talents and general amiability had recommended
him to the notice of the heiress, by whom he seems to
have been truly beloved ; but her pride of birth decided
her, finally, to reject him, and to wed a Monsieur
Renelle, a banker, and a diplomatist of some eminence.
After marriage, however, this gentleman neglected, and,
perhaps, even more positively ill-treated her. Having
passed with him some wretched years, she died, — at
least her condition so closely resembled death as to de-
ceive every one who saw her. She was buried — not
in a vault — but in an ordinary grave in the village of
her nativity. Filled with despair, and still inflamed
by the memory of a profound attachment, the lover
journeys from the capital to the remote province in
which the village lies, with the romantic purpose of
disinterring the corpse, and possessing himself of its
luxuriant tresses. He reaches the grave. At mid-
night he unearths the coffin, opens it, and is in the act
of detaching the hair, when he is arrested by the un-
closing of the beloved eyes. In fact, the lady had
been buried alive. Vitality had not altogether de-


THE PREMATURE BURIAL. 259
parted; and she was aroused, by the caresses of her
lover, from the lethargy which had been mistaken for
death. He bore her frantically to his lodgings in the
village. He employed certain powerful restoratives
suggested by no little medical learning. In fine, she
revived. She recognized her preserver. She re-
mained with him until, by slow degrees, she fully
recovered her original health. Her woman's heart
was not adamant, and this last lesson of love sufficed
to soften it. She bestowed it upon Bossuet. She re-
turned no more to her husband, but concealing from
him her resurrection, fled with her lover to America.
Twenty years afterwards, the two returned to France,
in the persuasion that time had so greatly altered the
lady's appearance that her friends would be unable to
recognize her. They were mistaken, however; for,
at the first meeting, Monsieur Renellc did actually
recognize and make claim to his wife. This claim she
resisted; and a judicial tribunal sustained her in her
resistance; deciding that the peculiar circumstances,
with the long lapse of years, had extinguished, not
only equitably but legally, the authority of the hus-
band.
The '' Chirurgical Journal'' of Leipsic — a periodical,
of high authority and merit, which some American
bookseller would do well to translate and republish —
records, in a late number, a very distressing event of
the character in question.
An officer of artillery, a man of gigantic stature and
of robust health, being thrown from an unmanageable
horse, received a very severe contusion upon the head,
which rendered him insensible at once; the skull was
slightly fractured ; but no immediate danger was appre-
hended. Trepanning was accomplished successfully.


260 TALES.
He was bled, and many other of the ordinary means
of relief were adopted. Gradually, however, he fell
into a more and more hopeless state of stupor; and,
finally, it was thought that he died.
The weather was warm; and he was buried, with
indecent haste, in one of the public cemeteries. His
funeral took place on Thursday. On the Sunday fol-
lowing, the grounds of the cemetery were, as usual,
much thronged with visiters; and, about noon, an in-
tense excitement was created by the declaration of a
peasant that, while sitting upon the grave of the officer,
he had distinctly felt a commotion of the earth, as if
occasioned by some one struggling beneath. At first
little attention was paid to the man's asseveration ; but
his evident terror, and the dogged obstinacy with which
he persisted in his story, had, at length, their natural
effect upon the crowd. Spades were hurriedly pro-
cured, and the grave, which was shamefully shallow,
was, in a few minutes, so far thrown open that the
head of its occupant appeared. He was then, seem-
ingly, dead ; but he sat nearly erect within his coffin,
the lid of which, in his furious struggles, he had par-
tially uplifted.
He was forthwith conveyed to the nearest Hospital,
and there pronounced to be still living, although in an
asphytic condition. After some hours he revived, rec-
ognized individuals of his acquaintance, and, in broken
sentences, spoke of his agonies in the grave.
From what he related, it was clear that he must
have been conscious of life for more than an hour,
while inhumed, before lapsing into insensibility. The
grave was carelessly and loosely filled with an exceed-
ingly porous soil; and thus some air was necessarilv
admitted. He heard the footsteps of the crowd over-


THE PREMATURE BURIAL. 261
head, and endeavored to make himself heard in turn.
It was the tumult within the grounds of the cemetery,
he said, which appeared to awaken him from a deep
sleep — but no sooner was he awake than he became
fully aware of the awful horrors of his position.
This patient, it is recorded, was doing well, and
seemed to be in a fair way of ultimate recovery, but
fell a victim to the quackeries of medical experiment.
The galvanic battery was applied; and he suddenly
expired in one of those ecstatic paroxysms which, occa-
sionally, it superinduces.
The mention of the galvanic battery, nevertheless,
recalls to my memory a well known and very extraor-
dinary case in point, where its action proved the means
of restoring to animation a young attorney of London
who had been interred for two days. This occurred
in 1831, and created, at the time, a very profound
sensation wherever it was made the subject of converse.
The patient, Mr. Edward Stapleton, had died, ap-
parently, of typhus fever, accompanied with some
anomalous symptoms which had excited the curiosity
of his medical attendants. Upon his seeming decease,
his friends were requested to sanction a post mortem
examination, but declined to permit it. As often hap-
pens when such refusals are made, the practitioners re-
solved to disinter the body and dissect it at leisure, in
private. Arrangements were easily effected with some
of the numerous corps of body-snatchers with which
London abounds; and, upon the third night after the
funeral, the supposed corpse was unearthed from a
grave eight feet deep, and deposited in the operating
chamber of one of the private hospitals.
An incision of some extent had been actually made
in the abdomen, when the fresh and undecayed appear-


264 TALES.
know of nothing so agonizing upon Earth — we can
dream of nothing half so hideous in the realms of the
nethermost Hell. And thus all narratives upon this
topic have an interest profound ; an interest, neverthe-
less, which, through the sacred awe of the topic itself,
very properly and very peculiarly depends upon our
conviction of the truth of the matter narrated. What
I have now to tell, is of my own actual knowledge —
of my own positive and personal experience.
For several years I had been subject to attacks of
the singular disorder which physicians have agreed to
term catalepsy, in default of a more definitive title.
Although both the immediate and the predisposing
causes, and even the actual diagnosis, of this disease,
arc still mysteries, its obvious and apparent character is
sufficiently well understood. Its variations seem to be
chiefly of degree. Sometimes the patient lies, for a
day only, or even for a shorter period, in a species of
exaggerated lethargy. He is senseless and externally
motionless ; but the pulsation of the heart is still faintly
perceptible; some traces of warmth remain; a slight
color lingers within the centre of the cheek; and,
upon application of a mirror to the lips, we can detect
a torpid, unequal, and vacillating action of the lungs.
Then again the duration of the trance is for weeks —
even for months; while the closest scrutiny, and the
most rigorous medical tests, fail to establish any ma-
terial distinction between the state of the sufferer and
what we conceive of absolute death. Very usually,
he is saved from premature interment solely by the
knowledge of his friends that he has been previously
subject to catalepsy, by the consequent suspicion ex-
cited, and, above all, by the non-appearance of decay.
The advances of the malady are, luckily, gradual.


THE PREMATURE BURIAL. 265
The first manifestations, although marked, are un-
equivocal. The fits grow successively more and more
distinctive, and endure each for a longer term than the
preceding. In this lies the principal security from in-
humation. The unfortunate whose first attack should
be of the extreme character which is occasionally seen,
would almost inevitably be consigned alive to the tomb.
My own case differed in no important particular
from those mentioned in medical books. Sometimes,
without any apparent cause, I sank, little by little, into
a condition of hemi-syncope, or half swoon; and, in
this condition, without pain, without ability to stir, or,
strictly speaking, to think, but with a dull lethargic
consciousness of life and of the presence of those who
surrounded my bed, I remained, until the crisis of the
disease restored me, suddenly, to perfect sensation.
At other times I was quickly and impetuously smitten.
I grew sick, and numb, and chilly, and dizzy, and so
fell prostrate at once. Then, for weeks, all was void,
and black, and silent, and Nothing became the universe.
Total annihilation could be no more. From these
latter attacks I awoke, however, with a gradation slow
in proportion to the suddenness of the seizure. Just
as the day dawns to the friendless and houseless beggar
who roams the streets throughout the long desolate
winter night —just so tardily —just so wearily —just
so cheerily came back the light of the Soul to me.
Apart from the tendency to trance, however, my
general health appeared to be good; nor could I per-
ceive that it was at all affected by the one prevalent
malady — unless, indeed, an idiosyncrasy in my ordi-
nary sleep may be looked upon as superinduced.
Upon awaking from slumber, I could never gain, at
once, thorough possession of my senses, and always


266 TALES.
remained, for many minutes, in much bewilderment
and perplexity ; — the mental faculties in general,
but the memory in especial, being in a condition of
absolute abeyance.
In all that I endured there was no physical suffering,
but of moral distress an infinitude. My fancy grew
charnel. I talked "of worms, of tombs and epi-
taphs." I was lost in reveries of death, and the idea
of premature burial held continual possession of my
brain. The ghastly Danger to which I was subjected,
haunted me day and night. Jn the former, the tor-
ture of meditation was excessive— in the latter, supreme.
When the grim Darkness overspread the Earth, then,
with very horror of thought, I shook—shook as the
quivering plumes upon the hearse. When Nature
could endure wakefulness no longer, it was with a
struggle that I consented to sleep — for I shuddered to
reflect that, upon awaking, I might find myself the
tenant of a grave. And when, finally, I sank into
slumber, it was only to rush at once into a world of
phantasms, above which, with vast, sable, overshad-
owing wings, hovered, predominant, the one sepulchral
Idea.
From the innumerable images of gloom which thus
oppressed me in dreams, I select for record but a
solitary vision. Methought I was immersed in a cat-
aleptic trance of more than usual duration and profun-
dity. Suddenly there came an icy hand upon my
forehead, and an impatient, gibbering voice whispered
the word "Arise!" within my ear.
I sat erect. The darkness was total. I could not
see the figure of him who had aroused me. I could
call to mind neither the period at which I had fallen
into the trance, nor the locality in which I then


THE PREMATURE BURIAL. 267
lay. While I remained motionless, and busied in en-
deavors to collect my thoughts, the cold hand grasped
me fiercely by the wrist, shaking it petulantly, while the
gibbering voice said again:
"Arise ! did I not bid thee arise?"
"And who," I demanded, "art thou?"
"I have no name in the regions which I inhabit,"
replied the voice mournfully; "I was mortal, but am
fiend. I was merciless, but am pitiful. Thou dost
feel that I shudder. — My teeth chatter as I speak,
yet it is not with the chilliness of the night — of the
night without end. But this hideousness is insuffera-
ble. How canst thou tranquilly sleep? I cannot rest
for the cry of these great agonies. These sights are
more than I can bear. Get thee up! Come with
me into the outer Night, and let me unfold to thee
the graves. Is not this a spectacle of woe ? — Be-
hold!"
I looked; and the unseen figure, which still grasped
me by the wrist, had caused to be thrown open the
graves of all mankind; and from each issued the faint
phosphoric radiance of decay ; so that I could see into
the innermost recesses, and there view the shrouded
bodies in their sad and solemn slumbers with the worm.
But, alas! the real sleepers were fewer, by many mill-
ions, than those who slumbered not at all; and there
was a feeble struggling; and there was a general sad
unrest; and from out the depths of the countless pits
there came a melancholy rustling from the garments
of the buried. And, of those who seemed tranquilly to
repose, I saw that a vast number had changed, in a
greater or less degree, the rigid and uneasy position in
which they had originally been entombed. And the
voice again said to me, as I gazed:


268 TALES.
"Is it not — oh, is it not a pitiful sight }" —but,
before I could find words to reply, the figure had ceased
to grasp my wrist, the phosphoric lights expired, and
the graves were closed with a sudden violence, while
from out them arose a tumult of despairing cries, saying
again — " Is it not — oh, God ! is it n»t a very piti-
ful sight?"
Phantasies such as these, presenting themselves at
night, extended their terrific influence far into my
waking hours. — My nerves became thoroughly un-
strung, and I fell a prey to perpetual horror. I hesi-
tated to ride, or to walk, or to inpulge in any
exercise that would carry me from home. In fact, I
no longer dared trust myself out of the immediate
presence of those who were aware of my proneness to
catalepsy, lest, falling into one of my usual fits, I
should be buried before my real condition could be
ascertained. I doubted the care, the fidelity of my
dearest friend's. I dreaded that, in some trance of
more than customary duration, they might be prevailed
upon to regard me as irrecoverable. I even went so
far as to fear that, as I occasioned much trouble, they
might be glad to consider any very protracted attack
as sufficient excuse for getting rid of me altogether. It
was in vain they endeavored to reassure me by the
most solemn promises. I exacted the most sacred
oaths, that under no circumstances they would bury me
until decomposition had so materially advanced as to
render farther preservation impossible. And, even
then, my mortal terrors would listen to no reason —
would accept no consolation. I entered into a series
of elaborate precautions. Among other things, I had
the family vault so remodelled as to admit of being
readily opened from within. The slightest pressure


THE PREMATURE BURIAL. 269
upon a long lever that extended far into the tomb
would cause the iron portals to fly back. There were
arrangements also for the free admission of air and
light, and convenient receptacles for food and water,
within immediate reach of the cofEn intended for my
reception. This coffin was warmly and softly padded,
and was provided with a lid, fashioned upon the prin-
ciple of the vault-door, with the addition of springs so
contrived that the feeblest movement of the body
would be sufficient to set it at liberty. Besides all this,
there was suspended from the roof of the tomb, a large
bell, the rope of which, it was designed, should extend
through a hole in the coffin, and so be fastened to one
of the hands of the corpse. But, alas! what avails
the vigilance against the Destiny of man? Not even
these well contrived securities sufficed to save from the
uttermost agonies of living inhumation, a wretch to
these agonies foredoomed!
There arrived an epoch — as often before there had
arrived — in which I found myself emerging from total
unconsciousness into the first feeble and indefinite sense
of existence.—Slowly — with a tortoise gradation —
approached the faint gray dawn of the psychal day.
A torpid uneasiness. An apathetic endurance of dull
pain. No care — no hope — no effort. Then, after
long interval, a ringing in the ears; then, after a lapse
still longer, a pricking or tingling sensation in the ex-
tremities; then a seemingly eternal period of pleas-
urable quiescence, during which the awakening feelings
are struggling into thought; then a brief re-sinking into
non-entity; then a sudden recovery. At length the
slight quivering of an eyelid, and immediately there-
upon, an electric shock of a terror, deadly and indefi-
nite, which sends the blood in torrents from the temples


270 TALES.
to the heart. And now the first positive effort to
think. And now the first endeavor to remember.
And now a partial and evanescent success. And now
the memory has so far regained its dominion that, in
some measure, I am cognizant of my state. I fed that
I am not awaking from ordinary sleep. I recollect
that I have been subject to catalepsy. And now, at
last, as if by the rush of an ocean, my shuddering spirit
is overwhelmed by the one grim Danger — by the one
spectral and ever-prevalent Idea.
For some minutes after this fancy possessed me, I
remained without motion. And why? I could not
summon courage to move. I dared not make the effort
which was to satisfy me of my fate — and yet there
was something at my heart which whispered me it tras
sure. Despair — such as no other species of wretch-
edness ever calls into being — despair alone urged me,
after long irresolution, to uplift the heavy lids of mv
eyes. I uplifted them. It was dark—all dark. I
knew that the fit was over. I knew that the crisis of
my disorder had long passed. I knew that I had now
fully recovered the use of my visual faculties — and vet
it was dark — all dark — the intense and utter rayless-
ness of the Night that endureth for evermore.
I endeavored to shriek ; and my lips and my parched
tongue moved convulsively together in the attempt —
but no voice issued from the cavernous lungs, which,
oppressed as if by the weight of some incumbent
mountain, gasped and palpitated, with the heart, at
every elaborate and struggling inspiration.
The movement of the jaws, in this effort to crv
aloud, showed me that they were bound up, as is
usual with the dead. I felt, too, that I lay upon some
hard substance; and by something similar my sides


THE PREMATURE BURIAL. 271
were, also, closely compressed. So far, I had not
ventured to stir any of my limbs—but now I vio-
lently threw up my arms, which had been lying at
length, with the wrists crossed. They struck a solid
wooden substance, which extended above my person at
an elevation of not more than six inches from my face.
I could no longer doubt that I reposed within a coffin
at last.
And now, amid all my infinite miseries, came
sweetly the cherub Hope — for I thought of my pre-
cautions. I writhed, and made spasmodic exertions
to force open the lid: it would not move. I felt my
wrists for the bell-rope: it was not to be found. And
now the Comforter fled forever, and a still sterner
Despair reigned triumphant; for I could not help per-
ceiving the absence of the paddings which I had so
carefully prepared —and then, too, there came sud-
denly to my nostrils the strong peculiar odor of moist
earth. The conclusion was irresistible. I was not
within the vault. I had fallen into a trance while
absent from home — while among strangers — when,
or how, I could not remember — and it was they who
had buried me as a dog — nailed up in some common
coffin — and thrust, deep, deep, and forever, into some
ordinary and nameless grave.
As this awful conviction forced itself, thus, into the
innermost chambers of my soul, I once again strug-
gled to cry aloud. And in this second endeavor I
succeeded. A long, wild, and continuous shriek, or
yell, of agony, resounded through the realms of the
subterrene Night.
"Hillo ! hillo, there !" said a gruff voice in reply.
"What the devil 's the matter now ?" said a second.
'' Get out o' that !" said a third.


272 TALES.
"What do roa mean bv yowling io that ere kind
of style, like a cam-mount?" said a fourth; and here-
upon I was seized and shaken without ceremony, for
several minutes, by a junto of very rough-looking indi-
viduals. They did not arouse me from my slumber —
for I was wide awake when I screamed — bat they re-
stored me to the full possession of my memory.
This adventure occurred near Richmond, in Virginia.
Accompanied by a friend, I had proceeded, upon i
gunning expedition, some miles down the banks of
James River. Night approached, and we were over-
taken by a storm. The cabin of a small sloop lying
at anchor in the stream, and laden with garden mould,
afforded us the only available shelter. We made the
best of it, and passed the night on board. I slept in
one of the only two berths in the vessel — and the
berths of a sloop of sixty or seventy tons, need scarcely
be described. That which I occupied had no bedding
of any kind. Its extreme width was eighteen inches.
The distance of its bottom from the deck overhead,
was precisely the same. I found it a matter of exceed-
ing difficulty to squeeze myself in. Nevertheless, I
slept soundly; and the whole of my vision — for it
was no dream, and no nightmare — arose naturally
from the circumstances of my position — from my
ordinary bias of thought — and from the difficulty, to
which I have alluded, of collecting my senses, and
especially of regaining my memory, for a long time
after awaking from slumber. The men who shook
me were the crew of the sloop, and some laborers
engaged to unload it. From the load itself came the
earthy smell. The bandage about the jaws was a sOk
handkerchief in which I had bound up my head, in
default of my customary nightcap.


THE PREMATURE BURIAL. 273
The tortures endured, however, were indubitably
quite equal, for the time, to those of actual sepulture.
They were fearfully—they were inconceivably hideous;
but out of Evil proceeded Good; for their very excess
wrought in my spirit an inevitable revulsion. My soul
acquired tone — acquired temper. I went abroad. I
took vigorous exercise. I breathed the free air of
Heaven. I thought upon other subjects than Death.
I discarded my medical books. "Buchan " I burned.
I read no "Night Thoughts"—no fustian about
church-yards — no bugaboo tales — such as this. In
short, I became a new man, and lived a man's life.
From that memorable night, I dismissed forever my
charnel apprehensions, and with them vanished the
cataleptic disorder, of which, perhaps, they had been
less the consequence than the cause.
There are moments when, even to the sober eye of
Reason, the world of our sad Humanity may assume
the semblance of a Hell — but the imagination of man
is no Carathis, to explore with impunity its every
cavern. Alas! the grim legion of sepulchral terrors
cannot be regarded as altogether fanciful — but, like
the Demons in whose company Afrasiab made his
voyage down the Oxus, they must sleep, or they will
devour us — they must be suffered to slumber, or we
perish.
Vol. V. - 18


THE OBLONG BOX.
[Gtdty'i Ladv'i Bulky September, 1844; Broadway Jtwrnal,
II., »J.]
Some years ago, I engaged passage from Charleston,
S.C., to the city of New York, in the fine packet-ship
"Independence," Captain Hardy. We were to sail
on the fifteenth of the month (June,) weather permit-
ting; and, on the fourteenth, I went on board to
arrange some matters in my state-room.
I found that we were to have a great many passen-
gers, including a more than usual number of ladies.
On the list were several of my acquaintances ; and,
among other names, I was rejoiced to see that of Mr.
Cornelius Wyatt, a young artist, for whom I enter-
tained feelings of warm friendship. He had been with
me a fellow student at C University, where we
were very much together. He had the ordinary tem-
perament of genius, and was a compound of misan-
thropy, sensibility, and enthusiasm. To these qualities
he united the warmest and truest heart which ever beat
in a human bosom.
I observed that his name was carded upon three
state-rooms; and, upon again referring to the list of
passengers, I found that he had engaged passage for
himself, wife, and two sisters — his own. The state
rooms were sufficiently roomy, and each had two
berths, one above the other. These berths, to be
- (»74)


THE OBLONG BOX. 275
sure, were so exceedingly narrow as to be insufficient
for more than one person; still, I could not compre-
hend why there were three state-rooms for these four
persons. I was, just at that epoch, in one of those
moody frames of mind which make a man abnormally
inquisitive about trifles: and I confess, with shame,
that I busied myself in a variety of ill-bred and prepos-
terous conjectures about this matter of the supernumer-
ary state-room. It was no business of mine, to be
sure ; but with none the less pertinacity did I occupy
myself in attempts to resolve the enigma. At last I
reached a conclusion which wrought in me great
wonder why I had not arrived at it before. "It is a
servant, of course," I said; "what a fool I am, not
sooner to have thought of so obvious a solution!"
And then I again repaired to the list — but here I saw
distinctly that no servant was to come with the party;
although, in fact, it had been the original design to
bring one — for the words "and servant" had been
first written and then overscored. "Oh, extra bag-
gage to be sure," I now said to myself— " something
he wishes not to be put in the hold — something to be
kept under his own eye — ah, I have it — a painting
or so — and this is what he has been bargaining about
with Nicolino, the Italian Jew." This idea satisfied
me, and I dismissed my curiosity for the nonce.
Wyatt's two sisters I knew very well, and most
amiable and clever girls they were. His wife he had
newly married, and I had never yet seen her. He
had often talked about her in my presence, however,
and in his usual style of enthusiasm. He described
her as of surpassing beauty, wit, and accomplishment.
I was, therefore, quite anxious to make her acquaint-
ance.


276 TALES.
On the day in which I visited the ship, (the four-
teenth), Wyatt and party were also to visit it — so the
captain informed me — and I waited on board an hour
longer than I had designed, in hope of being presented
to the bride ; but then an apology came. "Mrs. W.
was a little indisposed, and would decline coming on
board until to-morrow, at the hour of sailing."
The morrow having arrived, I was going from my
hotel to the wharf, when Captain Hardy met me and
said that, "owing to circumstances" (a stupid but
convenient phrase,) "he rather thought the 'Inde-
pendence ' would not sail for a day or two, and that
when all was ready, he would send up and let me
know." This I thought strange, for there was a stiff
southerly breeze; but as "the circumstances" were
not forthcoming, although I pumped for them with
much perseverance, I had nothing to do but to return
home and digest my impatience at leisure.
I did not receive the expected message from the
captain for nearly a week. It came at length, how-
ever, and I immediately went on board. The ship
was crowded with passengers, and everything was in
the bustle attendant upon making sail. Wyatt's party
arrived in about ten minutes after myself. There
were the two sisters, the bride, and the artist — the
latter in one of his customary fits of moody misanthropy.
I was too well used to these however, to pay them any
special attention. He did not even introduce me to
his wife ; — this courtesy devolving, per force, upon
his sister Marian, a very sweet and intelligent girl,
who, in a few hurried words, made us acquainted.
Mrs. Wyatt had been closely veiled; and when she
raised her veil, in acknowledging my bow, I confess
that I was very profoundly astonished. I should have


THE OBLONG BOX. 277
been much more so, however, had not long experience
advised me not to trust, with too implicit a reliance, the
enthusiastic descriptions of my friend, the artist, when
indulging in comments upon the loveliness of woman.
When beauty was the theme, I well knew with what
facility he soared into the regions of the purely ideal.
The truth is, I could not help regarding Mrs. Wyatt
as a decidedly plain-looking woman. If not positively
ugly, she was not, I think, very far from it. She was
dressed, however, in exquisite taste — and then I had
no doubt that she had captivated my friend's heart by
the more enduring graces of the intellect and soul. She
said very few words, and passed at once into her state-
room with Mr. W.
My old inquisitiveness now returned. There was
no servant — that was a settled point. I looked,
therefore, for the extra baggage. After some delay, a
cart arrived at the wharf, with an oblong pine box,
which was everything that seemed to be expected.
Immediately upon its arrival we made sail, and in a
short time were safely over the bar and standing out
to sea.
The box in question was, as I say, oblong. It was
about six feet in length by two and a half in breadth;
— I observed it attentively, and like to be precise.
Now this shape was peculiar; and no sooner had I
seen it, than I took credit to myself for the accuracy
of my guessing. I had reached the conclusion, it will
be remembered, that the extra baggage of my friend,
the artist, would prove to be pictures, or at least a
picture; for I knew he had been for several weeks in
conference with Nicolino : — and now here was a box
which, from its shape, could possibly contain nothing in
the world but a copy of Leonardo's "Last Supper ;"


THE OBLONG BOX. 279
in high spirits, and disposed to be social. I must ex-
cept, however, Wyatt and his sisters, who behaved
stiffly, and, I could not help thinking, uncourteously to
the rest of the party. Wyatt's conduct I did not so
much regard. He was gloomy, even beyond his usual
habit — in fact, he was morose — but in him I was pre-
pared for eccentricity. For the sisters, however, I could
make no excuse. They secluded themselves in their
state-rooms during the greater part of the passage, and
absolutely refused, although I repeatedly urged them,
to hold communication with any person on board.
Mrs. Wyatt herself, was far more agreeable. That
is to say, she was chatty; and to be chatty is no slight
recommendation at sea. She became excessively in-
timate with most of the ladies; and, to my profound
astonishment, evinced no equivocal disposition to coquet
with the men. She amused us all very much. I say
"amused" —and scarcely know how to explain my-
self. The truth is, I soon found that Mrs. W. was
far oftener laughed at than with. The gentlemen said
little about her; but the ladies, in a little while, pro-
nounced her "a good-hearted thing, rather indifferent-
looking, totally uneducated, and decidedly vulgar."
The great wonder was, how Wyatt had been en-
trapped into such a match. Wealth was the general
solution — but this I knew to be no solution at all ; for
Wyatt had told me that she neither brought him a
dollar nor had any expectations from any source what-
ever. "He had married," he said, "for love, and
for love only ; and his bride was far more than worthy
of his love." When I thought of these expressions,
on the part of my friend, I confess that I felt inde-
scribably puzzled. Could it be possible that he was
taking leave of his senses? What else could I think?


280 TALES.
He, so refined, so intellectual, so fastidious, with so ex-
quisite a perception of the faulty, and so keen an
appreciation of the beautiful! To be sure, the lady
seemed especially fond of him — particularly so in his
absence — when she made herself ridiculous by fre-
quent quotations of what had been said by her "be-
loved husband, Mr. Wyatt." The word " husband"
seemed forever — to use one of her own delicate ex-
pressions— forever "on the tip of her tongue." In
the meantime, it was observed by all on board, that he
avoided ber in the most pointed manner, and, for the
most part, shut himself up alone in his state-room,
where, in fact, he might have been said to live al-
together, leaving his wife at full liberty to amuse her-
self as she thought best, in the public society of the
main cabin.
My conclusion, from what I saw and heard, was,
that the artist, by some unaccountable freak of fate, or
perhaps in some fit of enthusiastic and fanciful passion,
had been induced to unite himself with a person al-
together beneath him, and that the natural result, entire
and speedy disgust, had ensued. I pitied him from the
bottom of my heart — but could not, for that reason,
quite forgive his incommunicativeness in the matter of
the "Last Supper." For this I resolved to have my
revenge.
One day he came upon deck, and, taking his arm
as had been my wont, I sauntered with him backwards
and forwards. His gloom, however, (which I con-
sidered quite natural under the circumstances,) seemed
entirely unabated. He said little, and that moodily,
and with evident effort. I ventured a jest or two, and
he made a sickening attempt at a smile. Poor fellow ! —
as I thought of his wife, I wondered that he could


THE OBLONG BOX. 281
have heart to put on even the semblance of mirth.
At last I ventured a home thrust. I determined to com-
mence a series of covert insinuations, or innuendoes,1
about the oblong box -—Just to let him perceive,
gradually, that I was not altogether the butt, or victim,
of his little bit of pleasant mystification. My first
observation was by way of opening a masked battery.
I said something about the "peculiar shape of that
box ;" and, as 1 spoke the words, I smiled knowingly,
winked, and touched him gently with my fore-finger
in-the ribs.
The manner in which Wyatt received this harmless
pleasantry, convinced me, at once, that he was mad.
At first he stared at me as if he found it impossible to
comprehend the witticism of my remark; but as its
point seemed slowly to make its way into his brain, his
eyes, in the same proportion seemed protruding from
their sockets. Then he grew very red — then hideously
pale — then, as if highly amused with what I had in-
sinuated, he began a loud and boisterous laugh, which,
to my astonishment, he kept up, with gradually in-
creasing vigor, for ten minutes or more. In con-
clusion, he fell flat and heavily upon the deck. When
I ran to uplift him, to all appearance he was dead,
I called assistance, and, with much difficulty, we
brought him to himself. Upon reviving he spoke in-
coherently for some time. At length we bled him and
put him to bed. The next morning he was quite
recovered, so far as regarded his mere bodily health.
Of his mind I say nothing, of course. I avoided him
during the rest of the passage, by advice of the captain,
who seemed to coincide with me altogether in my views
of his insanity, but cautioned me to say nothing on this
head to any person on board.
1 Inuindoi in original. — Ed.


28z TALES.
Several circumstances occurred immpaiately after tab
fit of Wyatt's which contributed to heighten the curi-
osity with which I was already possessed. Among
other things, this: I had been nervous — drank too
much strong green tea, and slept ill at night — in fact,
for two nights I could not be properly said to sleep at
all. Now, my state-room opened into the main cabin,
or dining-room, as did those of all the single men on
board. Wyatt's three rooms were in the after-cabin,
which was separated from the main one by a slight
sliding door, never locked even at night. As we were
almost constantly on a wind, and the breeze was not a
little stiff, the ship heeled to leeward very considerablv;
and whenever her starboard side was to leeward, the
sliding door between the cabins slid open, and so re-
mained, nobody taking the trouble to get up and shut
it. But my berth was in such a position, that when
my own state-room door was open, as well as the
sliding door in question, (and my own door was always
open on account of the heat) I could see into the after
cabin quite distinctly, and just at that portion of it, too,
where were situated the state-rooms of Mr. Wyatt.
Well, during two nights {not consecutive) while I lay
awake, I clearly saw Mrs. W., about eleven o'clock
upon each night, steal cautiously from the state-room
of Mr. W. and enter the extra room, where she re-
mained until daybreak, when she was called by her
husband and went back. That they were virtually
separated was clear. They had separate apartments
— no doubt in contemplation of a more permanent di-
vorce; and here, after all, I thought, was the mystery
of the extra state-room.
There was another circumstance, too, which inter-
ested me much. During the two wakeful nights in


THE OBLONG BOX. 283
question, and immediately after the disappearance of
Mrs. Wyatt into the extra state-room, I was attracted
by certain singular, cautious, subdued noises in that of
her husband. After listening to them for some time,
with thoughtful attention, I at length succeeded per-
fectly in translating their import. They were sounds
occasioned by the artist in prying open the oblong box,
by means of a chisel and mallet — the latter being ap-
parently muffled, or deadened, by some soft woollen or
cotton substance in which its head was enveloped.
In this manner I fancied I could distinguish the pre-
cise moment when he fairly disengaged the lid — also,
that I could determine when he removed it altogether,
and when he deposited it upon the lower berth in his
room; this latter point I knew, for example, by cer-
tain slight taps which the lid made in striking against the
wooden edges of the berth, as he endeavored to lay it
down very gently — there being no room for it on the
floor. After this there was a dead stillness, and I heard
nothing more, upon either occasion, until nearly day-
break; unless, perhaps, I may mention a low sobbing,
or murmuring sound, so very much suppressed as to be
nearly inaudible — if, indeed, the whole of this latter
noise were not rather produced by my own imagina-
tion. I say it seemed to resemble sobbing or sighing
— but, of course, it could not have been either. I
rather think it was a ringing in my own ears. Mr.
Wyatt, no doubt, according to custom, was merely
giving the rein to one of his hobbies — indulging in
one of his fits of artistic enthusiasm. He had opened
his oblong box, in order to feast his eyes on the pic-
torial treasure within. There was nothing in this,
however, to make him sob. I repeat, therefore, that it
must have been simply a freak of my own fancy, dis-


284 TALES.
tempered by good Captain Hardy's green tea. Just
before dawn, on each of the two nights of which I
speak, I distinctly heard Mr. Wyatt replace the lid
upon the oblong box, and force the nails into their old
places, by means of the muffled mallet. Having done
this, he issued from his state room, fully dressed, and
proceeded to call Mrs. W. from hers.
We had been at sea seven days, and were now off
Cape Hatteras, when there came a tremendously
heavy blow from the southwest. We were, in a meas-
ure, prepared for it, however, as the weather had been
holding out threats for some time. Everything was
made snug, alow and aloft; and as the wind steadily
freshened, we lay to, at length, under spanker and fore-
topsail, both double-reefed.
In this trim, we rode safely enough for forty-eight
hours — the ship proving herself an excellent sea boat,
in many respects, and shipping no water of any conse-
quence. At the end of this period, however, the gale
had freshened into a hurricane, and our after-sail split
into ribbons, bringing us so much in the trough of the
water that we shipped several prodigious seas, one im-
mediately after the other. By this accident we lost
three men over-board, with the caboose, and nearly the
whole of the larboard bulwarks. Scarcely had we re-
covered our senses, before the foretopsail went into
shreds, when we got up a storm stay-sail, and with this
did pretty well for some hours, the ship heading the
sea much more steadily than before.
The gale still held on, however, and we saw no
signs of its abating. The rigging was found to be ill-
fitted, and greatly strained ; and on the third day of the
blow, about five in the afternoon, our mizzen-mast, in
a heavy lurch to windward, went by the board. For


THE OBLONG BOX. 285
an hour or more, we tried in vain to get rid of it, on
account of the prodigious rolling of the ship ; and, be-
fore we had succeeded, the carpenter came aft and
announced four feet water in the hold. To add to our
dilemma, we found the pumps choked and nearly useless.
All was now confusion and despair — but an effort
was made to lighten the ship by throwing overboard as
much of her cargo as could be reached, and by cutting
away the two masts that remained. This we at last
accomplished — but we were still unable to do any-
thing at the pumps ; and, in the meantime, the leak
gained on us very fast.
At sundown, the gale had sensibly diminished in
violence, and, as the sea went down with it, we still
entertained faint hopes of saving ourselves in the boats.
At eight, P. M., the clouds broke away to windward,
and we had the advantage of a full moon — a piece
of good fortune which served wonderfully to cheer our
drooping spirits.
After incredible labor we succeeded, at length, in
getting the long-boat over the side without material ac-
cident, and into this we crowded the whole of the crew
and most of the passengers. This party made off im-
mediately, and, after undergoing much suffering, finally
arrived, in safety, at Ocracoke Inlet, on the third day
after the wreck.
Fourteen passengers, with the Captain, remained on
board, resolving to trust their fortunes to the jolly-boat
at the stern. We lowered it without difficulty, al-
though it was only by a miracle that we prevented it
from swamping as it touched the water. It contained,
when afloat, the captain and his wife, Mr. Wyatt and
party, a Mexican officer, wife, four children, and my-
self, with a negro valet.


286 TALES.
We had no room, of course, for anything except a
few positively necessary instruments, some provision,
and the clothes upon our backs. No one had thought
of even attempting to save anything more. What must
have been the astonishment of all then, when, having
proceeded a few fathoms from the ship, Mr. Wyatt
stood up in the stern-sheets, and coolly demanded of
Captain Hardy that the boat should be put back for the
purpose of taking in his oblong box!
"Sit down, Mr. Wyatt," replied the Captain,
somewhat sternly ; "you will capsize us if you do not
sit quite still. Our gunwale is almost in the water
now."
"The box!" vociferated Mr. Wyatt, still stand-
ing — " the box, I say! Captain Hardy, you cannot,
you will not refuse me. Its weight will be but a trifle
— it is nothing — mere nothing. By the mother who
bore you — for the love of Heaven — by your hope
of salvation, I implore you to put back for the box!"
The Captain, for a moment, seemed touched by the
earnest appeal of the artist, but he regained his stern
composure, and merely said —
"Mr. Wyatt, you are mad. I cannot listen to you.
Sit down, I say, or you will swamp the boat. Stay
— hold him — seize him !— he is about to spring
overboard! There — I knew it — he is over!"
As the Captain said this, Mr. Wyatt, in fact,
sprang from the boat, and, as we were yet in the lee
of the wreck, succeeded, by almost superhuman exer-
tion, in getting hold of a rope which hung from the
fore-chains. In another moment he was on board, and
rushing frantically down into the cabin.
In the meantime, we had been swept astern of the
ship, and being quite out of her lee, were at the mercy


THE OBLONG BOX. 287
of the tremendous sea which was still running. We
made a determined effort to put back, but our little
boat was like a feather in the breath of the tempest.
We saw at a glance that the doom of the unfortunate
artist was sealed.
As our distance from the wreck rapidly increased,
the madman (for as such only could we regard him)
was seen to emerge from the companion-way, up
which, by dint of a strength that appeared gigantic, he
dragged, bodily, the oblong box. While we gazed
in the extremity of astonishment, he passed, rapidly,
several turns of a three-inch rope, first around the box
and then around his body. In another instant both
body and box were in the sea — disappearing suddenly,
at once and forever.
We lingered awhile sadly upon our oars, with our
eyes riveted upon the spot. At length we pulled away.
The silence remained unbroken for an hour. Finally,
I hazarded a remark.
"Did you observe, Captain, how suddenly they
sank? Was not that an exceedingly singular thing?
I confess that I entertained some feeble hope of his
final deliverance, when I saw him lash himself to the
box, and commit himself to the sea."
"They sank, as a matter of course," replied the
Captain, "and that like a shot. They will soon rise
again, however — but not till the salt melts."
"The salt!" I ejaculated.
"Hush!" said the Captain, pointing to the wife
and sisters of the deceased. "We must talk of these
things at some more appropriate time."
We suffered much, and made a narrow escape ; but
fortune befriended us, as well as our mates in the long


288 TALES.
boat. We landed, in fine, more dead than alive, after
four days of intense distress, upon the beach opposite
Roanoke Island. We remained here a week, were not
ill-treated by the wreckers, and at length obtained a
passage to New York.
About a month after the loss of the " Independence,"
I happened to meet Captain Hardy in Broadway. Our
conversation turned, naturally, upon the disaster, and
especially upon the sad fate of poor Wyatt. I thus
learned the following particulars.
The artist had engaged passage for himself, wife, two
sisters and a servant. His wife was, indeed, as she
had been represented, a most lovely, and most ac-
complished woman. On the morning of the fourteenth
of June, (the day in which I first visited the ship,)
the lady suddenly sickened and died. The young
husband was frantic with grief— but circumstances im-
peratively forbade the deferring his voyage to New
York. It was necessary to take to her mother the
corpse of his adored wife, and on the other hand, the
universal prejudice which would prevent his doing so
openly, was well known. Nine-tenths of the passengers
would have abandoned the ship rather than take passage
with a dead body.
In this dilemma, Captain Hardy arranged that the
corpse, being first partially embalmed, and packed, with
a large quantity of salt, in a box of suitable dimensions,
should be conveyed on board as merchandize. Nothing
was to be said of the lady's decease; and, as it was
well understood that Mr. Wyatt had engaged passage
for his wife, it became necessary that some person
should personate her during the voyage. This the
deceased's lady's-maid was easily prevailed on to do.
The extra state-room, originally engaged for this girl,


THE OBLONG BOX. 289
during her mistress' life, was now merely retained. In
this state-room the pseudo wife slept, of course, every
night. In the day-time she performed, to the best of
her ability, the part of her mistress — whose person, it
had been carefully ascertained, was unknown to any
of the passengers on board.
My own mistakes arose, naturally enough, through
too careless, too inquisitive, and too impulsive a tempera-
ment. But of late, it is a rare thing that I sleep soundly
at night. There is a countenance which haunts me,
turn as I will. There is an hysterical laugh which
will forever ring within my ears.
Vol. V. —19


THOU ART THE MAN.
[GoJey's Ladv's Book, November, 1844.]
I will now play the CEdipus to the Rattleborough
enigma. I will expound to you as I alone can — the
secret of the enginery that effected the Rattleborough
miracle — the one, the true, the admitted, the undis-
puted, the indisputable miracle, which put a definite
end to infidelity among the Rattleburghers, and con-
verted to the orthodoxy of the grandames all the carnal-
minded who had ventured to be sceptical before.
This event — which I should be sorry to discuss in a
tone of unsuitable levity — occurred in the summer of
18—. Mr. Barnabas Shuttleworthy, one of the
wealthiest and most respectable citizens of the borough,
had been missing for several days under circum-
stances which gave rise to suspicion of foul play. Mr.
Shuttleworthy had set out from Rattleborough very
early one Saturday morning on horseback, with the
avowed intention of proceeding to the city of
about fifteen miles distant, and of returning the night of
the same day. Two hours after his departure, how-
ever, his horse returned without him, and without the
saddle-bags which had been strapped on his back at
starting. The animal was wounded, too, and covered
with mud. These circumstances naturally gave rise to
much alarm among the friends of the missing man, and
when it was found, on Sunday morning, that he had not
(290)


THOU ART THE MAN. 291
yet made his appearance, the whole borough arose en
masse to go and look for his body.
The foremost and most energetic in instituting this
search was the bosom friend of Mr. Shuttleworthy —
a Mr. Charles Goodfellow, or, as he was universally
called, "Charley Goodfellow," or "Old Charley
Goodfellow." Now, whether it is a marvellous coin-
cidence, or whether it is that the name itself has an
imperceptible effect upon the character, I have never
yet been able to ascertain; but the fact is unquestion-
able, that there never yet was any person named
Charles who was not an open, manly, honest, good-
natured and frank-hearted fellow, with a rich, clear
voice, that did you good to hear it, and an eye that
looked you always straight in the face, as much as to
say, "I have a clear conscience myself; am afraid of
no man, and am altogether above doing a mean
action." And thus all the hearty, careless, "walking
gentlemen " of the stage are very certain to be called
Charles.
Now " Old Charley Goodfellow," although he had
been in Rattleborough not longer than six months or
thereabouts, and although nobody knew any thing about
him before he came to settle in the neighbourhood, had
experienced no difficulty in the world in making the
acquaintance of all the respectable people in the
borough. Not a man of them but would have taken
his bare word for a thousand at any moment; and as
for the women, there is no saying what they would not
have done to oblige him. And all this came of his
having been christened Charles, and of his possessing,
in consequence, that ingenuous face which is proverb-
ially the very "best letter of recommendation."
I have already said that Mr. Shuttleworthy was one


292 TALES.
of the most respectable, and, undoubtedly, he was the
most wealthy man in Rattleborough, while "Old
Charley Goodfellow" was upon as intimate terms
with him as if he had been his own brother. The
two old gentlemen were next-door neighbours, and
although Mr. Shuttleworthy seldom, if ever, visited
"Old Charley," and never was known to take a meal
in his house, still this did not prevent the two friends
from being exceedingly intimate, as I have just observed;
for "Old Charley " never let a day pass without step-
ping in three or four times to see how his neighbour
came on, and very often he would stay to breakfast or
tea, and almost always to dinner; and then the amount
of wine that was made way with by the two cronies
at a sitting, it would really be a difficult thing to ascer-
tain. Old Charley's favorite beverage was Chateau
Margaux, and it appeared to do Mr. Shuttleworthy's
heart good to see the old fellow swallow it, as he did,
quart after quart; so that, one day, when the wine
was in and the wit, as a natural consequence, some-
what out, he said to his crony, as he slapped him
upon the back — "I tell you what it is, Old Charley,
you are, by all odds, the heartiest old fellow I ever
came across in all my born days; and, since you love to
guzzle the wine at'that fashion, I 'll be darned if I don't
have to make thee a present of a big box of the Chateau
Margaux. Od rot me," — (Mr. Shuttleworthy had
a sad habit of swearing, although he seldom went be-
yond " Od rot me," or "By gosh," or "By the
jolly golly,") — " Od rot me," says he, "if I don't
send an order to town this very afternoon for a double
box of the best that can be got, and I 'll make ye a
present of it, I will !— ye need n't say a word, now
— I will, I tell ye, and there 's an end of it; so look out


THOU ART THE MAN. 293
for it — it will come to hand some of these fine days,
precisely when ye are looking for it the least." I men-
tion this little bit of liberality on the part of Mr. Shuttle-
worthy, just by way of showing you how very intimate
an understanding existed between the two friends.
Well, on the Sunday morning in question, when it
came to be fairly understood that Mr. Shuttleworthy
had met with foul play, I never saw any one so pro-
foundly affected as "Old Charley Goodfellow."
When he first heard that the horse had come home
without his master, and without his master's saddle-
bags, and all bloody from a pistol-shot that had gone
clean through and through the poor animal's chest with-
out quite killing him; when he heard all this, he
turned as pale as if the missing man had been his own
dear brother or father, and shivered and shook all over
as if he had had a fit of the ague.
At first, he was too much overpowered with grief
to be able to do any thing at all, or to decide upon any
plan of action; so that for a long time he endeavoured
to dissuade Mr. Shuttleworthy's other friends from
making a stir about the matter, thinking it best to wait
awhile — say for a week or two, or a month or two -—
to see if something would n't turn up, or if Mr.
Shuttleworthy would n't come in the natural way, and
explain his reasons for sending his horse on before. I
dare say you have often observed this disposition to
temporize, or to procrastinate in people who are labour-
ing under any very poignant sorrow. Their powers of
mind seem to be rendered torpid, so that they have a
horror of any thing like action, and like nothing in the
world so well as to lie quietly in bed and " nurse their
grief," as the old ladies express it — that is to say,
ruminate over their trouble.


294 TALES.
The people of Rattleborough had, indeed, so high
an opinion of the wisdom and discretion of " Old
Charley," that the greater part of them felt disposed
to agree with him, and not make a stir in the business
"until something should turn up," as the honest old
gentleman worded it; and I believe that, after all, this
would have been the general determination but for the
very suspicious interference of Mr. Shuttlewarthy's
nephew, a young man of very dissipated habits, and
otherwise of rather bad character. This nephew, whose
name was Pennifeather, would listen to nothing like
reason in the matter of "lying quiet," but insisted
upon making immediate search for the " corpse of the
murdered man." This was the expression he em-
ployed; and Mr. Goodfellow acutely remarked at the
time, that it was "a singular expression, to say no
more." This remark of Old Charley's, too, had
great effect upon the crowd; and one of the party was
heard to ask, very impressively, "how it happened that
young Mr. Pennifeather was so intimately cognizant of
all the circumstances connected with his wealthy
uncle's disappearance, as to feel authorized to assert,
distinctly and unequivocally, that his uncle was 'a
murdered man.'" Hereupon some little squibbing
and bickering occurred among various members of the
crowd, and especially between "Old Charley " and
Mr. Pennifeather — although this latter occurrence
was, indeed, by no means a novelty, for no good will
had subsisted between the parties for the last three or
four months; and matters had even gone so far that
Mr. Pennifeather had actually knocked down his uncle's
friend for some alleged excess of liberty that the latter
had taken in the uncle's house, of which the nephew
was an inmate. Upon this occasion, " Old Charley"


THOU ART THE MAN. 295
is said to have behaved with exemplary moderation and
Christian charity. He arose from the blow, adjusted
his clothes, and made no attempt at retaliation at all —
merely muttering a few words about "taking summary
vengeance at the first convenient opportunity," — a
natural and very justifiable ebullition of anger, which
meant nothing, however, and, beyond doubt, was no
sooner given vent to than forgotten. .
However these matters may be, (which have no
reference to the point now at issue,) it is quite certain
that the people of Rattleborough, principally through
the persuasion of Mr. Pennifeather, came at length to
the determination of dispersing over the adjacent country
in search of the missing Mr. Shuttleworthy. I say they
came to this determination in the first instance. After
it had been fully resolved that a search should be made,
it was considered almost a matter of course that the
seekers should disperse—that is to say, distribute
themselves in parties — for the more thorough examina-
tion of the region round about. I forget, however, by
what ingenious train of reasoning it was that "Old
Charley '' finally convinced the assembly that this was
the most injudicious plan that could be pursued. Con-
vince them, however, he did—all except Mr. Penni-
feather; and, in the end, it was arranged that a search
should be instituted carefully and very thoroughly by
the burghers en masse, " Old Charley " himself leading
the way.
As for the matter of that, there could have been no
better pioneer than "Old Charley," whom every body
knew to have the eye of a lynx; but, although he led
them into all manner of out-of-the-way holes and cor-
ners, by routes that nobody had ever suspected of exist-
ing in the neighbourhood, and although the search was


296 TALES.
incessantly kept up day and night for nearly a week, still
no trace of Mr. Shuttleworthy could be discovered.
When I say no trace, however, I must not be under-
stood to speak literally; for trace, to some extent,
there certainly was. The poor gentleman had been
tracked, by his horse's shoes, (which were peculiar,)
to a spot about three miles to the east of the borough,
on the main road leading to the city. Here the track
made off into a by-path through a piece of woodland —
the path coming out again into the main road, and
cutting off about half a mile of the regular distance.
Following the shoe-marks down this lane, the party
came at length to a pool of stagnant water, half hidden
by the brambles, to the right of the lane, and opposite
this pool all vestige of the track was lost sight of.
It appeared, however, that a struggle of some nature
had here taken place, and it seemed as if some large and
heavy body, much larger and heavier than a man, had
been dragged from the by-path to the pool. This latter
was carefully dragged twice, but nothing was found;
and the party were upon the point of going away, in
despair of coming to any result, when Providence sug-
gested to Mr. Goodfellow the expediency of draining
the water off altogether. This project was received
with cheers and many high compliments to "Old
Charley '' upon his sagacity and consideration. As
many of the burghers had brought spades with them,
supposing that they might possibly be called upon to
disinter a corpse, the drain was easily and speedily
effected ; and no sooner was the bottom visible than
right in the middle of the mud that remained was dis-
covered a black silk velvet waistcoat, which nearly
every one present immediately recognized as the property
of Mr. Pennifeather. This waistcoat was much torn,


THOU ART THE MAN. 297
and stained with blood, and there were several persons
among the party who had a distinct remembrance of
its having been worn by its owner on the very morn-
ing of Mr. Shuttleworthy's departure for the city ; while
there were others, again, ready to testify upon oath, if
required, that Mr. P. did not wear the garment in
question at any period during the remainder of that
memorable day; nor could any one be found to say
that he had seen it upon Mr. P. '$ person at any period
at all subsequent to Mr. Shuttleworthy's disappearance.
Matters now wore a very serious aspect for Mr.
Pennifeather, and it was observed, as an indubitable
confirmation of the suspicions which were excited
against him, that he grew exceedingly pale, and when
asked what he had to say for himself, was utterly in-
capable of saying a word. Hereupon, the few friends
his riotous mode of living had left him deserted him at
once to a man, and were even more clamorous than
his ancient and avowed enemies for his instantaneous
arrest. But, on the other hand, the magnanimity of
Mr. Goodfellow shone forth with only the more bril-
liant lustre through contrast. He made a warm and
intensely eloquent defence of Mr. Pennifeather, in
which he alluded more than once to his own sincere for-
giveness of that wild young gentleman— " the heir of
the worthy Mr. Shuttle worthy," —for the insult which
he (the young gentleman) had, no doubt in the heat
of passion, thought proper to put upon him (Mr.
Goodfellow.) "He forgave him for it," he said,
"from the very bottom of his heart; and for himself
(Mr. Goodfellow), so far from pushing the suspicious
circumstances to extremity, which, he was sorry to
say, really had arisen against Mr. Pennifeather, he
(Mr. Goodfellow) would make every exertion in his


298 TALES.
power, would employ all the little eloquence in his pos-
session to — to — to — soften down, as much as he
could conscientiously do so, the worst features of this
really exceedingly perplexing piece of business."
Mr. Goodfellow went on for some half hour longer
in this strain, very much to the credit both of his
head and of his heart; but your warm-hearted people
are seldom apposite in their observations — they run
into all sorts of blunders, contre-temps and malaprepts-
isms, in the hot-headedness of their zeal to serve a
friend — thus, often with the kindest intentions in the
world, doing infinitely more to prejudice his cause than
to advance it.
So, in the present instance, it turned out with all
the eloquence of " Old Charley ;" for, although he
laboured earnestly in behalf of the suspected, yet it so
happened, somehow or other, that every syllable he
uttered of which the direct but unwitting tendency was
not to exalt the speaker in the good opinion of his
audience had the effect to deepen the suspicion already
attached to the individual whose cause he pleaded, and
to arouse against him the fury of the mob.
One of the most unaccountable errors committed by
the orator was his allusion to the suspected as "the
heir of the worthy old gentleman Mr. Shuttleworthy."
The people had really never thought of this before.
They had only remembered certain threats of disin-
heritance uttered a year or two previously by the
uncle, (who had no living relative except the nephew ;)
and they had, therefore, always looked upon this dis-
inheritance as a matter that was settled — so single-
minded a race of beings were the Rattleburghers ; but
the remark of "Old Charley" brought them at once
to a consideration of this point, and thus gave them


THOU ART THE MAN. 299
to see the possibility of the threats having been nothing
more than a threat. And straightway, hereupon, arose
the natural question of' cui bono ? — a question that
tended even more than the waistcoat to fasten the
terrible crime upon the young man. And here, lest I
be misunderstood, permit me to digress for one moment
merely to observe that the exceedingly brief and simple
Latin phrase which I have employed, is invariably mis-
translated and misconceived. "Cui bono" in all the
crack novels and elsewhere, — in those of Mrs. Gore,
for example, (the author of "Cecil,") a lady who
quotes all tongues from the Chaldaean to Chickasaw,
and is helped to her learning, "as needed," upon a
systematic plan, by Mr. Beckford, — in all the crack
novels, I say, from those of Bulwer and Dickens to
those of Turnapenny and Ainsworth, the two little
Latin words cui bono are rendered "to what purpose,"
or, (as if quo bono,) "to what good." Their true
meaning, nevertheless, is "for whose advantage."
Cui, to whom ; bono, is it for a benefit. It is a purely
legal phrase, and applicable precisely in cases such as
we have now under consideration, where the probability
of the doer of a deed hinges upon the probability of
the benefit accruing to this individual or to that from
the deed's accomplishment. Now, in the present in-
stance, the question cui bono very pointedly implicated
Mr. Pennifeather. His uncle had threatened him,
after making a will in his favour, with disinheritance.
But the threat had not been actually kept; the original
will, it appeared, had not been altered. Had it been
altered, the only supposable motive for murder on the
part of the suspected would have been the ordinary
one of revenge ; and even this would have been coun-
teracted by the hope of reinstation into the good graces


302 TALES.
almost immediately returned with the well known steel-
bound, russet leather pocket-book which the old gen-
tleman had been in the habit of carrying for years. Its
valuable contents, however, had been abstracted, and
the magistrate in vain endeavoured to extort from the
prisoner the use which had been made of them, or the
place of their concealment. Indeed, he obstinately de-
nied all knowledge of the matter. The constables,
also, discovered, between the bed and sacking of the
unhappy man, a shirt and neck-handkerchief both
marked with the initials of his name, and both hid-
eously besmeared with the blood of the victim.
At this juncture, it was announced that the horse of
the murdered man had just expired in the stable from
the effects of the wound he had received, and it was
proposed by Mr. Goodfellow that a post mortem exami-
nation of the beast should be immediately made, with
the view, if possible, of discovering the ball. This was
accordingly done; and, as if to demonstrate beyond a
question the guilt of the accused, Mr. Goodfellow,
after considerable searching in the cavity of the chest,
was enabled to detect and to pull forth a bullet of very
extraordinary size, which, upon trial, was found to be
exactly adapted to the bore of Mr. Pennifeather's rifle,
while it was far too large for that of any other person
in the borough or its vicinity. To render the mat-
ter even surer yet, however, this bullet was discovered
to have a flaw or seam at right angles to the usual su-
ture ; and upon examination, this seam corresponded
precisely with an accidental ridge or elevation in a pair
of moulds acknowledged by the accused himself to be
his own property. Upon the finding of this bullet, the
examining magistrate refused to listen to any farther
testimony, and immediately committed the prisoner for


THOU ART THE MAN. 303
trial — declining resolutely to take any bail in the case,
although against this severity Mr. Goodfellow very
warmly remonstrated, and offered to become surety in
whatever amount might be required. This generosity
on the part of "Old Charley" was only in accord-
ance with the whole tenour of his amiable and chival-
rous conduct during the entire period of his sojourn in
the borough of Rattle. In the present instance, the
worthy man was so entirely carried away by the exces-
sive warmth of his sympathy, that he seemed to have
quite forgotten, when he offered to go bail for his
young friend, that he himself (Mr. Goodfellow) did
not possess a single dollar's worth of property upon the
face of the earth.
The result of the committal may be readily foreseen.
Mr. Pennifeather, amid the loud execrations of all
Rattleborough, was brought to trial at the next criminal
sessions, when the chain of circumstantial evidence
(strengthened as it was by some additional damning
facts, which Mr. Goodfellow's sensitive conscientious-
ness forbade him to withhold from the court), was con-
sidered so unbroken and so thoroughly conclusive, that
the jury, without leaving their seats, returned an im-
mediate verdict of '' Guilty of murder in the fir it de-
gree." Soon afterwards the unhappy wretch received
sentence of death, and was remanded to the county
jail to await the inexorable vengeance of the law.
In the mean time, the noble behaviour of "Old
Charley Goodfellow '' had doubly endeared him to the
honest citizens of the borough. He became ten times
a greater favourite than ever; and, as a natural result
of the hospitality with which he was treated, he re-
laxed, as it were, perforce, the extremely parsimoni-
ous habits which his poverty had hitherto impelled him


3oz
almost immedia
bound, russet k -
tleman had been
valuable conten
the magistrate in - - -
prisoner the use º
place of their cor -
nied all knowled -
also, discovered,
unhappy man, a
marked with the
eously besmeared v
At this juncture,
the murdered man
the effects of the w
proposed by Mr. G
nation of the beast s
the view, if possible,
accordingly done; a
question the guilt o
after considerable sea
was enabled to detect
extraordinary size, wº
exactly adapted to the
while it was far too 1.
in the borough or its
ter even surer yet, how
to have a flaw or sean
ture ; and upon exam
precisely with an accid,
of moulds acknowledge
his own property. Up
examining magistrate rº
testimony, and immedia:
--- * *


--------TE wºx. 3rº
any time tºur - the goºd did Wii. Bhuttle
* * * *sue: the mºtiattimº. Titº ºr
ºngº much and ºmiurief tº a mutum; it
e = *mºnºmy me—if I renunurr
ºr ºr had ºf a gream ºn: Ciuteau-
- Hemº ºf his fºrmis tº runt and
-º-º: sºm-ºf a rºmarºº imit nuity unt
ºur-ºrie ºf ºrier: ig imm, tilt intº 4
mºg-ºf-fººtiewmut fºr nº tier
pºem- ſuº-mºrtiuzaimºeil;
--ºir was ºut-off Churry" time tº
usiºn - ºr mºrning ºccur tºur rºwed
ro-º-º: Femi-ºut I cºuſifºrmer prºtºty
his rººm fºr the sience, iſºtºugh he had
ent ºf ºrºmagnanimºus reasºn, no doubt.
ºrro-a-lºgº arrived, and wºrn in a ver
highly respectable cºmpany at Mr. º
use. Inter-half the borºugh was there —
nong the mumber–ºur, much to the vexa-
host, the Château-Margaux did not arrive
hour-and when the sumptuous supper sup:
Old Charley” had been done very ample
guests- It came at ength, however,
ly big ºr ºf it there was, too, -- and as
ºrty were in excessively good humour, it
neº-ºr-that it shoºd be liſted upºn
ºr said than done. I ſent a helpine hand
º, we had the box mºon the table, in th
---


THOU ART THE MAN. 305
he said any thing about "the good old Mr. Shuttle-
worthy" when he issued the invitations. The fact
is, he thought much and concluded to say nothing at
all. He did not mention to any one— if I remember
aright — that he had received a present of Chateau-
Margaux. He merely asked his friends to come and
help him drink some, of a remarkably fine quality and
rich flavour, that he had ordered up from the city a
couple of months ago, and of which he would be in the
receipt upon the morrow. I have often puzzled myself
to imagine why it was that " Old Charley" came to
the conclusion to say nothing about having received
the wine from his old friend, but I could never precisely
understand his reason for the silence, although he had
some excellent and very magnanimous reason, no doubt.
The morrow at length arrived, and with it a very
large and highly respectable company at Mr. Good-
fellow's house. Indeed, half the borough was there —
I myself among the number — but, much to the vexa-
tion of the host, the Chateau-Margaux did not arrive
until a late hour, and when the sumptuous supper sup-
plied by "Old Charley" had been done very ample
justice by the guests. It came at length, however, —
a monstrously big box of it there was, too, — and as
the whole party were in excessively good humour, it
was decided, nem. con., that it should be lifted upon
the table and its contents disemboweled forthwith.
No sooner said than done. I lent a helping hand;
and, in a trice, we had the box upon the table, in the
midst of all the bottles and glasses, not a few of which
were demolished in the scuffle. "Old Charley," who
was pretty much intoxicated, and excessively red in
the face, now took a seat, with an air of mock dignity,
at the head of the board, and thumped furiously upon
Vol. V. — »


306 TALES.
it with a decanter, calling upon the company to
keep order " during the ceremony of disinterring the
treasure."
After some vociferation, quiet was at length fully
restored, and, as very often happens in similar cases, a
profound and remarkable silence ensued. Being then
requested to force open the lid, I complied, of course,
"with an infinite deal of pleasure." I inserted a chisel,
and giving it a few slight taps with a hammer, the top
of the box flew suddenly and violently off, and, at the
same instant, there sprang up into a sitting position,
directly facing the host, the bruised, bloody and nearly
putrid corpse of the murdered Mr. Shuttleworthy him-
self. It gazed for a few moments, fixedly and sorrow-
fully, with its decaying and lack-lustre eyes, full into
the countenance of Mr. Goodfellow; uttered slowly,
but clearly and impressively, the words — " Thou art
the man !" and then, falling over the side of the chest
as if thoroughly satisfied, stretched out its limbs quiver-
ingly upon the table.
The scene that ensued is altogether beyond descrip-
tion. The rush for the doors and windows was
terrific, and many of the most robust men in the room
fainted outright through sheer horror. But after the
first wild, shrieking burst of affright, all eyes were
directed to Mr. Goodfellow. If I live a thousand
years, I can never forget the more than mortal agony
which was depicted in that ghastly face of his, so
lately rubicund with triumph and wine. For several
minutes, he sat rigidly as a statue of marble; his eyes
seeming, in the intense vacancy of their gaze, to be
turned inwards and absorbed in the contemplation of
his own miserable, murderous soul. At length, then-
expression appeared to flash suddenly out into the ex-


308 TALES.
fulfilled. I was thus prepared to view the manceuvrir.g
of " Old Charley" in a very different light from that
in which it was regarded by the good citizens of Rat-
tleborough. I saw at once that all the criminating
discoveries arose, either directly, or indirectly, from
himself. But the fact which clearly opened my eyes
to the true state of the case, was the affair of the bul-
let, found by Mr. G. in the carcass of the horse. /
had not forgotten, although the Rattleburghers had,
that there was a hole where the ball had entered the
horse, and another where it went out. If it were
found in the animal then, after having made its exit,
I saw clearly that it must have been deposited by the
person who found it. The bloody shirt and handker-
chief confirmed the idea suggested by the bullet; for
the blood upon examination proved to be capital claret,
and no more. When I came to think of these things,
and also of the late increase of liberality and expendi-
ture on the part of Mr. Goodfellow, I entertained a
suspicion which was none the less strong because I kept
it altogether to myself.
In the mean time, I instituted a rigorous private
search for the corpse of Mr. Shuttleworthy, and, for
good reasons, searched in quarters as divergent as pos-
sible from those to which Mr. Goodfellow conducted
his party. The result was that, after some days, I
came across an old dry well, the mouth of which was
nearly hidden by brambles; and here, at the bottom,
I discovered what I sought.
Now it so happened that I had overheard the col-
loquy between the two cronies, when Mr. Goodfellow
had contrived to cajole his host into the promise of a
box of Chateau-Margaux. Upon this hint I acted. I
procured a stiff piece of whalebone, thrust it down


NOTES.
(310


ABBREVIATIONS USED IN THE NOTES.
o. — Omit.
o. c. — Omit comma or commas.
. h. —Omit hyphen.
. d. — Omit dash.
q. m. — Omit quotation marks.
. a. — Omit accent.
1. – Small letter.
cap. – Capital.
i. — Italics.
n. i. — Not italics.
p. – Page.
1. – Line.
The dates 1840, 1843, 1845, refer to the respective col-
lected editions.
The first group of each body of notes gives the variations
of the earliest collated form of the tale from the text of the
edition, the reading of the text standing first, with the cor-
responding reading of the collated form in parentheses. In
order to economize space, the second, third, or fourth state
was in most cases collated with the earliest forms, the read-
ing of the later form being placed first in the notes, with
the earliest form in parentheses.
:
(312)


314 NOTES.
out (and passed without) 1. 21 visiter (visitor) page 8 1. 22
silentlv, (o. c) 1. 31 St. (o.) page 9 1. 29 which (, which)
page 10 1. 24 , ii said, (o.) page 11 I. 15 but (and) 1. 24
, at (o. c.) page xa 1. 4 /a/«- (small daily print) page 13
Par. II. enclosed by square brackets. 1. 19 / (We) 1. 19
the (our) page 14 1. 5 of (, of) Par. II. and page 15 Par. I.
enclosed in square brackets. Names of papers in quota-
tion marks throughout. 1. 14 hers (her's) 1. 31 . — that (, )
page 15 1. 1 in (, in) 1. n anything (any thing) Pars. III.
and IV. and page 16 Par. I. enclosed in square brackets.
1. 23-24 By . . .fact, some . . . Beauvais (Some . . . Beauvais,
by . . . fact) 1. 24 visiter (visitor) 1. 28 inscribed (, inscribed)
page 16 1. 2 combating (combatting) page 17 1. n down,
(o. c.) page 19 1. 22 , of (o. c.) page ao 1. 7 Espanaye (Es-
panage) 1. 10 surest (sweet) 1. 13 perfumery-girl (o. h.) 1. 16
Espanaye (Espanage) 1. 25 for (, for) page 21 1. 7 Begin
Par. II. as follows: "I know not what effect the argu-
ments of L'Etoile may have wrought upon your own un-
derstanding. With, etc. 1 . 7 the . . . Etoile (they) 1. 8
journal (cap.) 1. 28 idea, (o. c.) 1. 32 this journals (the)
page 22 1. 13 naturallv, (o. c.) 1. 25 L'Etoile (it) page 25 1. 5
Par. II. begins Chap. II. in S. L. C. Motto repeated here.
1. 14 women (women,) 1. 21 suffer (suffers) 1. 25 ; the (,)
page 27 1. 10 forever (for ever) 1. 11 Mercury (s. 1.) 1. 27
.All (-all) 1. 28 water (water,) 1. 29 by (, by) 1. 31 o. q. m.
page 28 1. 25, as . . . rule, (o.) 1. 30 till ('till) 1. 31 argu-
ment (argument of the journal) 1. 34 If . . . less (o.) page
29 1. 2 But no (No) 1. 7-9 o. q. m. 1. 14 -more water (o.)
1. 33 merelv (, merely) page 30 1. 14-15 , / . . . said, (o.)
1. 28 grisette (n. i.) page 31 1. 3 generaliiv of the (gen-
eral) 1. 6 A . . . been (It was) 1. 18 reasoner (journal) 1. 34
arithmetical (direct) I. 34 but . . . or (but in one highly)
page 321. 24 adjust (accommodate) 1. 24 adjustment (accom-
modation) page 34 1. 4 the paper (our journal) L $ corpse
(corpse.) 1. 30 nobodv (no body) 1. 30 anything (any thing)
page 35 1. 17 not (, not) 1. 25 he (n. i.) 1. 32 in his (o.) page
37 1. 2 observing person (one of observation) 1. 17 St. (Saint)


NOTES. 315
I. 24 St. (Saint) 1. 24 kewever (however,) 1. 26 piiv (vast
pity) 1. 26-28 indittr . . . race (inditer was not more minute.
It is easy to surmise, and as easy to assert) 1. 28 repeated
(repeated what others have done, (without establishing any
incontrovertible proofs)) 1. 31 interior (i.) 1. 32 outskirts (i.)
page 39 1. 1 circumstantial (i.) 1. 3 relevancy (i.) 1. 5 , arises
(o. c.) page 40 1. 1 , of (o. c) 1. 7 St. (Saint) 1. 8 mean time
(meantime) 1. 12 About . . . ago (Two or three years since)
1. 20 supposed, (o. c.) 1. 33 Mercure (Mercuric) page 41 1. 18
is (, is) page 42 1. 7 La (Le) 1. 30 ten (ten thousand)
page 43 1. 9 -or . . . him (o.) 1. 11 , however (o. c.) 1. 14
St. (Saint) I. 21 until (, until) 1. 32 St. (Saint) page 44 1. 1
meet (meet with) 1. 4 in (, in) 1. 5-6 for . . . unknown,
(o.) 1. 9 St. (Saint) 1. 16 St. (Saint) 1. 22-23 ,or-. . . -myself
(o.) 1. 28-31 St. (Saint) page 45 1. 13-14 -or not for . . .
effected-the (, the). After 1. 15 insert: "Such thoughts as
those we may imagine to have passed through the mind of
Marie, but the point is one upon which I consider it neces-
sary now to insist. I have reasoned thus, merely to call
attention, as I said a minute ago, to the culpable remissness
of the police) 1. 17 is, (, is) page 46 1. 5 to (, to) 1. 17 in
fact (to the philisophical) 1. 22 unheard-of (o. h.) Chap-
ter II. begins 1. 3a Motto repeated, page 47 1. 14 / . . .
believe (I believe) 1 . 24 thicket (thickets) 1. 29 thicket; (,)
1. 34 . They (; they) page 48 1. 9 could (would) 1. 15 as
(o.) 1. 17 week (single week) 1. 18 And (And,) 1. 21 he (the
editor) 1. 21 just quoted, (quoted just now —) 1. 30 On
(But, on) page 49 1. 16 desecrate (rife with desecration) 1. 16
With (With a deadly) 1. 19 vicinitv (vicinage) 1. 21 now (o.)
1. 23 the (the lower order of the) page 50 1. 13 communica-
tions (communication) page 51 1. 20 of (of the disposal
of) 1. 23 o. q. m. page 52 1. 26 through (, through)
page 54 1. 2-3 : — was . . .another? (o.) 1. 7 struggle (o.)
1. 13 mind that (mind that I admit the thicket as the scene of
the outrage; and you will immediately perceive that) 1. 15
against (i.) 1. 20 the (the strong and just) 1. 25-26 it . . .
supposed (o.) page 55 1 . 16 deep (long) 1. 26 forever (for


316 NOTES.
ever) 1. rj cemt. (?) 1. 31 and (for) page 561. 1, or two, (o. c.)
1. 20 it!' (!) page 57 1. 1 before (already) L 20 whether . . .
elsewhere (o.) 1. 22 , in (o. a) page 58 1. 9 if- . . . -was, (o.)
1.12 / (o.) 1.14. This /(, I) 1. iftBarriere (Barriere) page 59
1. 5 home, (o. c) L 20 f (o.) 1. 29 at (, at) page 60 1. 7 , or
two, (o.) 1. 8 beings (being). Begin Par. II. p. 60 with,
"And who that one? It will not be impossible — perhaps
it will not be difficult to discover. 1. 9 now the (o.) 1. 11-12
either .. . or (o.) 1. 17 , with (o. c.) After Par. II. insert:
We are not forced to suppose a premeditated design of
murder or of violation. But there was the friendly shelter
of the thicket, and the approach of rain — there was oppor-
tunity and strong temptation — and then a sudden and vio-
lent wrong, to be concealed only by one of darker dye.
1. 27 fitlv, (o. c) 1. 33 the gang (i.) page 61 1. 10 deed (dark
deed) 1. 13 This, (o. c.) 1. 26 proceed, (proceed — provided
that our preparatory analysis of the subject has not greatly
diverged from the principles of truth) page ($3 I. 2 or . . .
others (o.) 1. 25 have been (be) page 64 1. 2-3 , without . . .
rudder (n. i.) 1. 6 surprise (surprize) 1. 9 , and (. The) 1. 9
murderer (i.) 1. i6ii«,/(that an individual assassin was con-
victed upon his own confession, of the murder of Marie
Roget, and) page 64, no note. 1. 34 these (certain) page 65
1. 3 so far . . . known (i.) 1. 4-5 up . . . history (i.) 1. 12 am
. . . parallel (i.).
Variations of Grirwold from the text.
Page 1 1. 2 [lduft] (o. a.) page a 1. 1 [Zufalle] (zufalle)
1. 1 [gewohnlich] (o. a.) 1. 3 [: statt] (;) 1. 10 [Moralisehe]
(Moral) page 11.3 On (Upon) page 2 [Note] [/fardenberg]
(Hardenburg) 1. iS are (such sentiments are) page 3 1. 5
train (wild train) page 5 1. 24 [Andri\ (Andree) through-
out 1. 25 three months (five years) page 7 1. 16 without (and
passed without) Note page 17 [/] (I) page 37 1. 26
pitv (vast pity) page 40 1. 33 [Afercure] (Mercurie) etc
page 42 1. 7 (/.,.'] (Lo) page 48 1. 17 week (single week).


NOTES. 317
THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM.
The Gift, 1843; Broadway Journal, I. 20.
The text follows The Broadway Journal. Griswold shows two
verbal variations from the text.
Variations of The Gift from the text.
Page 67 1. 1 longos (longas) 1. 3 putrid (o. a.) 1. 8 revolu-
tion — (, —) 1. 14 words— (,) page 68 1. 11 . At (; at) 1. 23
at length (, at length,) I. 27 sensations (sensation) 1. 28 a
(that) 1. 31 still (o.) page 69 1. 6 been (been,) 1. 9 physical,
(o. c) 1. 19 , is (o. c.) 1. 23 flower—(;) 1. 24 meaning (in-
tense meaning) 1. 27 endeavors (endeavours) 1. 28 regather
(re-gather) page 70 1. 2 down (, down) 1. 3 —till (, —) 1. 6
heart, (o. c) 1. 11 this (this,) 1. 12 madness— (,—) 1. 16
sound— (; —) 1. 19 touch — (, —) 1. z^endeavor (endeavour)
1. 23 comprehend (realize) 1. 26 judges, (judges, of the tall
candles) 1. 30 me (o.) page 711. 8 of (of the) 1. 8 night (cap.)
1. 9 struggled (gasped) 1. 11 new par. 1. 19 ;— but (. But)
1. 19 where (where,) 1. 21 autos-da-fe (autc-da-fes) 1. 25 /
(, I) 1. 2$ saw, (o. c.)l. 30 am/(and,) page 72 1. 4 at length (, at
length,) 1. 6 , in (o. c.) 1. 13 rumors (rumours) 1. 13 of {at)
1. l6 , save (o. c.) 1. 17 subterranean (subterrene) 1. 24 wall,
(, —) 1. 25 masonry — (, —) 1. 33 , when (o. c.) page 73 1. 6
robe (robe,) 1. 10: but (;) 1. 13 onward (onwards) 1. i$for
. . . time (for perhaps half an hour) 1. 17 and (, and) 1. 19
afterward (afterwards) 1. 24 more ;— (;) 1. 31 hope— (,—)
page 74 1. 2 , was (o. c) 1. 4 endeavoring (endeavouring)
I. 11 afterward (afterwards) 1. 13 —my (. My) 1. 17 vapor
(vapour) 1. 24 For % . . seconds (For nearly a minute) 1. 29
, and (o. c.) 1. 31 1(1 now) 1. 34 Another step (A step farther)
page 75 1. 2 , was (o. c.) 1. 4 its (o.) 1. 5 , there (o. c.) 1. 12
limb, (o. c.) 1. 27 drunk (drank) 1. 30 of course, / (I, of
course,) page 76 1. 4 trouble; (:) 1. 8 endeavor (endeavour)


3 1 8 NOTES.
]. 23 one (one,) 1. 25 dimensions (dimension) 1. 29 depression
(depressions) page 77 L 3 colors (colors) 1. 18 had—to
(was absent: to) 1. 23 upwarJ (upwards) page 78 1. 2 after-
ward (afterwards) 1. 4 minutes, (;) 1. 4 , somewhat {;) 1. 14
hour, (o. c.) 1. 27 edge (edge,) page 79 1. 2 rumor (rumour)
1. 4 , and / (. I) 1. 5 entrapment (i.) 1. 19 odor (odour) 1. 21
-with my (with) 1. 22 upward (upwards) 1. 26 another (an)
1. 29 might (i.) I. 34 craved food (L) page 80 I. 5 half (halt
1. 7 such (such,) 1. 10 perfect (realize) 1. 17 operations (oper-
ation) 1. 19 vigor (vigour) 1. 20 of(oi the serge of) 1.26 sound
(i.) 1. 28 «» (in) 1.31 crept (i.)L y\shriek . . . spirit; (shriek
of spirit! and the plunge of a damned spirit) page 81 1 . ro
Still /(I still) 1. 20 sinking (sinking or slipping) 1. 22 hope
(n. i.) 1. 23 hope (n. i.) page 82 1. 8 in the track (i.) 1. 16 un-
formed half (i.) 1. 20 now (now at once) 1. 22 despair (i.) 1. 29
food (i.) page 83 1. 2 voracitv, (o. c.) 1. 5 , / (o. c) I. 6 then,
(o. c.) 1. 14 leaped (leapt) 1. 22 ever (ever-) 1. 24 disgust (a
disgust) 1. 26 heavy (deadly) 1. 31 still (n. i.) page 84 1. 27
sulphurous (sulphureous) 1. 32 endeavored (endeavoured)
page 85 1. 5 colors (colours) 1. 10 where (o.c.) 1. 12 my (my
diseased) 1. 31 — Oh (o. d.) 1. 33 , (o. c.) 1. 34 hands — (,)
page 86 1. 7 Inquisitorial (s. I.) I. 8 two-fold (o. h.) 1. 17
Death, (!) 1. 19 not have (have) 1. 21 or (or,) 1. 23 and (and,)
1. 26 onward (onwards) 1. 31-32 There . . . voices I There . . .
trumpets! (There . . . trumpets! There .. . voices I) page 87
1. 2 , fainting, (o. c) L 3-4 The French . . . Toledo. The
. . . enemies. (The . . . enemies. The French . . . Toledo.).
Variations of Griswold from the text.
Page 67 1. 1 [longos] (longas) 1. 3 putrid (o. a.) 1. 5
Market (s. 1.) page 71 1. 21 [autos-da-fe^ (auto-da-fes)
page 71 1.4 grew (, grew) page 73 1. 10 least (least,) 1. 22
/ (, I) 1. 2S and (and,) 1. 25 more;- (—) 1. 34 /(, I)
page 74 1. 4 firmlv; (—) 1. 13 this — (:) L 14 lips (Ups.)
1. t6 time (time,) 1. 26 ; at length (: at length,) 1. 28 there
(, there) page 75 1. 13 wail; (-) 1. 16 /(, I) L 17 hy (, by)


NOTES. 319
1. 27 ;for (—) 1. 29-30 of course, (, of course) 1. 31 wild
(wild,) page 76 1. 4 indeed! (—) 1. n /(, I) 1. lz fell; (:)
1. 14 , and (—and,) 1. 21 / (, 1) 1. 27 seemed (, seemed)
page 77 1. 8 -.for (—) 1. 15 that (, that) 1. 19 to (, to) 1. 19
; for (—) 1. 21 :for (—) 1. 30 , such (o. c) 1. 34 * (it,)
page 78 1. 1 own (own,) 1. 15 time (time,) 1. 16 saw (saw,)
1. 20 me (me,) 1. 34 whose (, whose) page 79 1. 14 vibrations
(oscillations) 1. 27 life (life,) 1. 29 long; (—) 1. 32sick(—sick)
page 80 1. 5 half formed (half-formed) 1. 7 such (such,) 1. 18
sweep (sweep,) 1. 18 more (more,) 1. 34 spirit; (!) 1. 34 heart
(heart,) page 81 1. 2 as (, as) 1. 6furiouslv, (—furiously—)
1. 19 oh! (,) I. 28 robe, (—) 1. 32 me (me,) page 82 1. 5 how
(, how) 1. 7possibilitv! (?) 1. 21 —, but (—) 1. 27 ;their (—)
1. 34platter: (;) page 83 1. 2 the (, the) 1. 8 first (first,) 1. 14
frame-work (fame-work) 1. 20 they (, they) page 84 1. 14 and
(, and) 1. 31 were, (o. c.) page 85 1. 4 colours (colors) 1. 15
vapour (vapor) 1. 16odour (odor) 1.31 — Oh (o. d.) page 86
1. 5 at first, (o. c.) 1. 5 endeavoured (endeavored) 1. 19 have
not (not have) 1. 21 or, (o. c).
THE TELL-TALE HEART.
The Pioneer, January, 1843; Broadway
Journal, II. 7.
The text follows the Broadway yournal.
The Broadway Journal shows careful, although not very exten-
sive, revision from the Pioneer.
Griswold has several verbal variations from the text, as well as a
few in spelling and punctuation.
Mono: —
Art is long and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
LOMGTEUOW.


320 NOTES.
Page 88 1. 2 been (been,) 1. 1 1 but (but,) 1. l^yes (—yes)
1. 18 ro (so,) page 89 1. n him (the old man) 1. 15 —cau-
tiouslv (o.) 1. 29 minute (minute —) 1. 34 he (the old man)
page 90 1. 2 ke (the old man) 1. 7 pushing it on (on pushing
it) 1. 9 had (had got) 1. 13 a whole (another) 1. 15 him (the
old man) 1. 16 bed (bed,) 1. 20 low (low,) 1. 22 awe (i.) 1. 28 *
ever since (, ever since,) page 91 1. 2 ; but (;) 1. 3 ; because
(:) 1. 3 Death (s. 1.) 1. 4 him (the old man) 1. 7 heard (heard
me) 1. 10 him (the old man) 1. 13 a (, a) 1. 20 -.for (;) 1. 21
as (, as) 1. 25-26 a low . . . cotton (i.) 1. 26 such (mud.
such) 1. 34 and quicker (o.) page 92 1. 1 terror (wrath) 1. 2
moment} (:) !. 4 : so (: —) 1. 4.1/ {, at) 1. 7 /(, I) 1.8 louder!
(i.) 1. 9 burst. (!) 1. 10 neighbour (neighbor) 1. 15 then (then
sat upon the bed and) 1. 16 on (on,) 1. 18 wall (walls) 1. 19
visitors (visiters) 1. 22 He (The old man) 1. 23 me (i.) 1. 24
still (, still,) 1. 34 any thing (anything) page 93 1. 11 neigh-
bour (neighbor) 1. 23 fatigues, (;) 1. 29 and (and,) 1. 33, 34
: — it . . . distinct (o.) page 94 1. 10; but (;—) I. 11 arose
(arose,) 1. 12 ; but (;—) 1. 14 fro (fro,) 1. 15 men— (;—)
1. 18 had . . . sitting (had sat) 1. 18 , but (: —) 1. 26 was (o.)
1. 31 deed. (!).
Variations of Griswold from the text.
Page 88 1. 16 He had the eye (One of his eyes resembled
that) 1. 20 forever (for ever) page 89 1. 3 •>/- (oh,) page 90
1. 14 meantime (mean time) 1. 16 bed (bed,) page 91 1. 1
had (has) [Pioneer] 1. 4 him (him,) 1. 11 neighbour (neigh-
bor) 1. 13 length (length,) 1. 13 simple (single) 1. 1*,full (o.)
1. 23 And (And now) page 92 1. 10 neighbour (neighbor)
1. 19 visitors (visiters).


N0TE8. 3i!
THE GOLD-BUG.
The (Philadelphia) Dollar Newspaper, June »i-
»8, 1843; 1845.
The text follows 1845, with manuscript corrections from the
Lorimer-Graham copy.
Variations of GriswoU from the text.
Page 101 1. 32 bout (about) page 10a 1. 10 d—d (deuced)
1. 30 d—d (deuced) page 106 1. 12 agreement (accordance)
page 107 1. 18 stay (1845) (stay) page 1081. 2 d—d (deuced)
page 112 1. 20 drop (let) 1. 21 fall!— (o.) I. 22 / do (,)
page 113 1. 16 dar (dare) page 114 1. 4 Jar (dare) page
117 1. 11 —hurrah (o. d.) 1. 22 outward (outwards') 1. 26
dropped (let) 1. 26fall (o.) page 119I. 20of (of open) 1.31-32
,from . . .jewels, aglow and a glare, that (a glow and a
glare, from . . . jewels, that (page 120 1. 21 done; (,) 1. 32
just then (immediately) page 121 1. 6 first (first faint)
page 124 1. 12 on (upon) page 125 1. 17 On (Upon) 1. 31
— and then (, when) page 126 1. 4 on (upon) 1. 5 on (upon)
page 127 1. 2 on (upon) I. 3 , / (o. c) 1. 12 on (upon) 1. 26
on (upon) 1. 27 on (upon) 1. 30 on (upon) page 128 1. 3 on
(upon) V iz on (upon) I. 31 on (upon) 1. 33 on (upon) page
129 1. 13 on (upon) 1. 16 on (upon) 1. 26 on (upon) I. 29
continuously (continuous) page 131 1. 1 On (upon) 1. 8 ;]
8*(i ) ( ) 1. 14 on (upon) 1. 17 led (lead) page 132 1. 15
on (upon) 1. 14 is (was) page 133 1. 15 however (o.) page
134 1. 5 On (Upon) 1. 5 that (o.) 1. 5 that (o.) 1. 7 the semi-
colon (;) 1. 17 semicolon (;) page 135 1. 23 4 (48) 1. 23 . • (.)
page 1361. 3 To . . . confusion, it . . . form (It . . . form,
to . . . confusion) 1. 26 on (upon) 1. 27 twentv (forty) page
139 1. 5 twentv (forty) [and same change throughout tale]
1. 11 on (upon) 1. 11 unless (except) 1. 28 On (Upon) 1.30 on
(upon) 1. 31 on (upon) page 140 1. 19 on (upon) page 141
vol. v. — 21


3ZS NOTES.
1. if convictions (impressions) 1. 28 on (upon) 1. 25 "/pre-
sume . . . weather." (o.) page 142 1. 13 , the worst of (o.).
THE BLACK CAT.
The Philadelphia United States Saturday Post,
August 19, 1843, 1845.
The text follows 1845, which doe* not differ from GriswoU.
THE ELK (MORNING ON THE WISSA-
HICCON).
The Opal, 1844.
The text follows The Opal. This piece was not included in the
Griswold collection, but is mentioned in a note to J. R. Lowell's
Biography of Poe in Graham'1 Magazine for February, 1845.
A TALE OF THE RAGGED MOUNTAINS.
Godey's Lady's Book, April, 1844; Broadway
Journal, II., 21.
Text follows Broadway Journal.
Several errors in Broadway Journal were corrected by collation
with Godey'i. (See below.)
Variations of' Godey' s from the text.
Page 163 1. 2 , Virginia (in Virginia) 1. 3 of (of a) 1. 6
moral or (mental, his moral, or) 1. 8 Whence (When) 1. 3
came, (came from) 1. 12 point (frequent point) 1.13yet (but)
1. 19 low. (low. His hair resembled the web of the spider
in its tenuity and levity.) page 164 1. 9 , but (o. c.j 1. 12 of


NOTES. 323
a (of a vulture or even of a) 1. 14 and (when) 1. 15 , half
(o. c) 1. 19 , that (o. c.) 1. 21 him (him,) 1. 27 attention
(attentions) page 165 1. 11 .— (.) 1. 12 , which (o.c.) 1. 16
say, (o. c.) 1. 26 this (this,) 1. 29 about (about,) 1. 32 1845
(1843) PaSe l66 1-33 interest.— (.) page 167 1. 10 its
(its weird) 1. 29 , / (o. c.) 1.34 tremor. — (.) page 168 1. 21
Aim, (o. c.) 1. 26 endeavored (endeavoured) 1. 32-33 , as . . .
thought, (o.) page 1691. 1 , and by (and with) 1. 5 odor (odour)
I. 7-8 I . . . upward, (o.) 1. 14 all at once (, all at once,)
1. l$breete. — (.) 1. 16/ull, (o. c.) 1. lb gentlv-flowing (a. h.)
page 170 1. 6, things, (o. c.) 1. 10 and (, and) 1. 1 1 clamor
(clamour) 1.15-16 , while . . . clambered, chattering. . . oriels
(, and clambered, chattering . . . minarets, vast . . . ape.)
1. 16 shriehing, (o. c) 1. 17 or clung (and clinging) 1. 20
bathing places (bathing-places) 1. 25 age; (,) 1. 30 now,
of . . ,1 (that now, of course I) page 171 I. 1 tests,
(o. c) 1. 5 — Thus (o. d.) 1.6-7' '(" ") 1. 17 , V (o. c.) 1. 19
all (o.) 1. 20 excitement (excitements) 1. 21 , / (o. c) 1. 26
shrank (shrunk) 1. 30 half- (o. h.) 1. 30 ,half(o. c.) page 172
1. 12 new object (new and altogether objectless impulse)
page 173 1. 2 replv; (,) 1. 12 length, (o. c.) 1. 19 my (the)
1. 23 but (but I) 1. 29-30 of . . . substance, (of substance and
of volition) page 174 1. 3 , that{o. c.) 1. 6 / (, I) 1.8 , which
(a. c.) 1. 12 ;but (,) 1. 24 — When (o. d.) 1. 32 , and (o. c.)
page 175 1. 27 fatallv; (,) page 176 1. 4 neighboring
(neighbouring).
GrisivoLl variations from the text.
Page 166 1. 1 temperament (temperature) 1.18 Mr. (, Mr.)
1. 18 as (o. c.) I. 21 at (as) page i69 1.16gentlv-flowing(o. h.)
page 170 1. 22 encumbered (encountered) page 171 1. 18
, through (o. c.) 1. 30 half- (o. h.) page 17a 1. 18 mean time
(meantime) page 174 1. 7 colour (color) 1. 24 — When (o. d.)
page 175 1. 20paper. (:) 1.23 and (o.) page 176 1. 22 Bedloe
(Bedlo).
The text follows Godiy's instead of B. J. in the case of tempera-
ment where the error in B. J. is obvious.


324 NOTES.
THE SPECTACLES.
(Sent to Horne, April, 1844.) Broadway
Journal, II. ao.
The text followi Broathuay Journal.
Griswold shows several verbal variations, and a good many others
in punctuation and spelling.
Variations of Griswold from the text.
Page 177 I. 7 the (, the) 1. 12 mate (make,) page 178 1.3
[B. J. has believing] 1. Zpride; (—) 1. 5 bye (by) 1. S vi/r,
(—) 1. 9 , was (—) 1. 22 that (, that) 1. 27 nine tenth (nine-
tenth) 1. 33 weakness, (o. c.) page 179 1. 15 night, (a. c.) 1- »S
theatre (cap.) 1. 34 stage (stage,) page 180 I. 2 — no (;) 1.4
seems (, seems) 1. 17 [aerienne] (aerienne) page 1S2 1. 16
own; (,) 1. 17 , and (;) 1. 18 [, had] [B. J. , had] 1. 19 [ere*]
even, [B. J] 1. 21 ,and(—) 1. 26 «>.' (— no!—) 1. 31 no {—
no) 1. 31 did (cap.) 1. 34 be! (?) page 183 I. 2 her (her,) 1.6
and(—) 1. 9 ; / (—) 1. 11 / twM (—) 1. 1S g*>d- (;) 1- 2°-
with (o. c.) 1. 25 — this (:) 1. 29 or (or,) page 185 1. 34 behav-
iour (behavior) page 186 1. 20 bill (bil) 1. 22 profound (1.)
page 187 1. 2 and — (o. d.) 1. 24 , upon (o. c.) 1. 27 one (one.)
page 188 1. 4 sir; (:) page 189 1.25 recognised (recognised)
page 191 1. 2 idolized (idolised) 1. 16 de (the) 1. 18 Helps'
(Helas ?) 1.19 [Eugenie] (o.a.) 1.26 sympathizing (sympathis-
ing) page 192 1.1 everything (everything) 1. 10 hurry. — (.)
page 193 1. 2 valtt (o. a.) 1. 22 naioeti (naivete) 1. 23 — All
(a. d.) 1 28 connexions (connections) page 1941. 5 , of (o. c)
page 1951. 1 rivetted (riveted) 1. 20 instance (instance,) page
197 1. 22 [fioriture] (fiorituri) 1. 25 [giunge] (guinge) 1. 29
when, (o. c.) page 198 1. 22 —upon my (o. d.) 1. 33 by (by.)
page 199 1. 27 Eugenie (Eugenie) 1. 28 it (, it) L 29 ami
(amie) 1. 29 she said (said she) 1. 30 [Eugenie] (usually Eu-
genie) (so throughout) 1. 32 [by] B.J. (by,) page «oo 1. 26


326 NOTES.
MESMERIC REVELATION.
Columbian Magazine, August, 1844; 1845.
The text follows 1845, which differs in no respect from
Griswold.
The 1845 shows considerable revision from the earlier state.
Especially to be noted is the insertion of one long passage. (See
below.)
Variations of Columbian Magazine from the text.
Page a41 1. 9 of -which the (whose) page a4a 1. 8 occur-
ring (occurring not many days ago) 1. 33 vague (vague.)
page 243 1. 6 ' Charles Elwood' (" Charles Elwood") 1. 18
abstractions (i.) 1.19 , and (o. c.) 1. 33 of (of convincing) 1.33
which (— a train which) page 244 1. 11 water — (.) 1. 20 the
patient (Mr. Vankirk) 1. 23 passes (pauses) 1. 24 After Yes.
insert: P. Do you still feel the pain in your head. V.
No.) 1. 27 a (o.) page 245 1. 9-11 This . . . veneration
(n. i.) 1. 20 , is (o. c.) 1. 20 all— (,) 1. 28 (n. i.) 1. 31 impels
(impels or modifies) page 2461. 17 /(, I) 1.23 ,escape (o. c)
1. 26 caloric, (caloric, light,) page 247 1. 9, at (o. c.) I. 11
unique (i.) 1. 11 For (For,) 1. 21 matter (i.) omit from page
246 1. 26 There ... to page 248 1. 22 accumulative. 1. 23
But (But,) 1. 23-24 — in . . . God—(o.) 1. 25-26 / . . .
meaning, (n. i.) 1. 32 be (n. i.) page 249 1. 6 say, (o. c)
page 250 1. 18 or, (o. c.) 1. 23 , in (o. c.) 1. 29 resembles (re-
sembled) 1.30 when lam (o.) page 251 1. 8-9 of. . . motion
(, or motion,) 1. 23 , to . . . life, (o.) 1. 24 its (the) page 252
1. 6 suns, (o. c.) 1. 16 immortalitv — (o.) 1. 16 and (, and)
1. 7-23 act . . . angels (pervade at pleasure the weird domin-
ions of the infinite) omit from You 1. 24 to As page 254
1. 6. 1. 13-18 His . . . shadows t (o.)


NOTES. 327
THE PREMATURE BURIAL.
Some Unknown Philadelphia Publication ; Broad-
way Journal, I. 24.
The text follows Broadway Journal,
Variations of Griswold from the text.
Page 255 1. 6 Truth (s. 1.) 1. 24 woe (wo) page 256 1. 20
meantime (mean time) 1. 21 [i] (a) page 257 I. 5 she (, she)
page 258 1.13 littirateur (o. a.) 1.18 Rinelle (o. a.) through-
out. Page 259 1. 6 recognized (recognised) 1. 15 that (, that)
1. 16 recognize (recognise) 1. 18 recognize (recognise) 1. 22
but (, but) 1. 24 o/{, of) page 260 1. 11 that(, that) I. ijjirst
(first,) 1. 16 , at length, (o. c.) 1. 24 Hospital (s. 1.) 1. 26 recog-
nized (recognised) page 261 1. 16 who (, who) 1. 25 when
(, when) page 262 1. 5 [B. J. has life-likeliness] 1. 13 but
(, but) page 263 1. 3 were (, were) 1. 3 Hospital (s. 1.) 1.4 rec-
ognizing (recognising) 1. 22 from (of) I. 23 of (to) page 264
1. 14 , of (p. c.) 1. 15 mysteries (mysterious) page 265 1. n
hemi (semi) 1.23 [B. J. has seiure] (G. seisure) page 267 1. 8
mournfullv (, mournfully) 1. 10 — Mv (o. d.) 1. 17 woe (wo)
page 268 1. 1 —but (But) 1.6 again — (,) 1. 10 —My (o. d.)
page 269 1. 22 —Slowlv (o. d.) 1. 31 non-entitv (o. h.) page
270 i. 4 that (, that) page 271 1.14 forever (for ever) 1. 24 for-
ever (for ever) 1. 32 in. (, in) page 273 1. 12 short, (o. c).
THE OBLONG BOX.
Godey's Lady's Book, September, 1844; Broad-
way Journal, II. 23.
Text: Broadway "Journal.
Variations of Godef s from the text.
Page 274 !. 2 packet-ship (o. h.) 1. 9 and, (o. c.) 1. 24 or
(. as) page 2751. 6 : and (;) page 276 1. 2 ), (,)) 1. 10 (a (, (a)


33<3 NOTES.
[Chateau] (o. a.) 1. 30 , in (o. a.) page 305 1. 5 [Chateau]
(o. a.) 1. 7 , of (o. c.) 1. % flavour (flavor) 1. 20 [Chateau]
(o. a.) 1. 25 humour (humor) page 306 1. 23 men (n. i.)
page 307 1. 2 and, (o. a.) 1. 7 , in substance (o.) 1. 12
labour (labor) 1. 16 the (o.) 1. 17 with (, with) page 308 1. 12
txit, (o. c).
VARIATIONS OF THE STEDMAN-WOOD-
BERRY, STODDARD, AND INGRAM
TEXTS FROM GRISWOLD. THE GRIS-
WOLD TEXT IS IN PARENTHESES.
The Mvstery of Marie Rogit.
Stod. page 2 1. 18 are (such sentiments are) page 20 1. 1
therefore (before) 1. 31 then (thence) page 33 1. 8 guided
(guiding) page 36 1. 15 rencountres (rencounters) I. 17 as
(as very) page 39 1. 14 in (in any) page 50 1. 19 situation
(suspicion) 1.33 and a (and) 1. 33 •/(of a natural art) page
5a 1. 13 tangled (entangled).
Ing. page 2 1. 1 Zufalle (zufalle) page 3 1. 7 proved
(proven) page 6 1. 20 continued (continual) page 9 1. 29
Ste. (St.) page 12 1. 17 at noon (noon) 1. 17 ,a (, at twelve
a) page 16 1. 12 that (when) page 20 1. 31 then (thence)
page 22 1. 4 the (this) page 26 1. 9 reception (inception)
page 40 1. 4 made a (made) page 43 1. 9 not (not yet) page
50 1. 13 communication (communications) page 51 1. 2-3
name of {name) page 52 1. 1 the (and the).
S. & W. page 1 1. 2 lduft (o. a.) page 2 1. 1 Zufilh
(zufalle) page 3 1. 20 St. (Saint) page 15 1. 17 determines
(determined) page 16 1. 12 that (when) page 40 1. 33 Mer-
curic (Mercure) page 42 1. 7 La (Le).
S. & W. omits the following Lorimer-Graham correc-
tions: page 7 1. 16 and passed (o., I..-G.) page 37 1. 26
vast pitv (o. vast, L.-G.) page 48 1.17 single week (o. single,
L.G.).


NOTES. 331
The Pit and the Pendulum.
S. & W. page 69 1. 17 a long (long) page 71 1. 21 autos-
da-fe' (auto-da-fes) page 79 1. 23 cimeter (scimeter) page 83
1. 34 ribbons (ribbands).
The Tell-Tale Heart.
Stod. page911.26a (sucha) page 931. st)chatud (chatted
of).
Ing. page 91 1. 14 out from (from out) page 92 1. 28-30
First . . . legs, (Omitted in Ing.) 1. yatook (then took) page
93 1. 2-3 A ... ha! (Omitted in Ing.).
S. & W. page 91 1. 26 much such a sound (such).
The Gold Bug.
Stod. page 98 1. 12 tellin' (tellin) [so for other words of
like termination — in] page 102 I. 11 looked (look) page
10a 1. 8 'fore (fore) (so apostrophe used with other dialect
words, 'gin, 'bout, etc.) page 113 1. 16 dey (dare) page 118
1. 10 spades (spade) page 119 1. 21 the the (the) page 132
I. 24 cases (case) page 136 1. 16 eleven (ten).
S. & W. page 96 par. II. 1. 1 utmost (inmost) page no
1. 14 tulipiferum (tulipefera).
S. & W. has the Lorimer-Graham verbal corrections ex-
cept page 117 1. 26 dropped (let . . . fall) page 128 1. 3
upon (L.-G. on) page 131 1. 1 Upon (L.-G. On) page 13a
1. 15 upon (L.-G. on) page 138 1. 25 upon (L.-G. on). Poe's
corrections in punctuation have, in nearly every instance,
been ignored.
Ing. page 98 1. 33 loud (low) page 104 1. 21 nebber
(neber).
The Black Cat.
Stod. page 145 I. 27 fibre (fiber) page 146 1. 21 stupid
(silly) page 147 I. 21 succeding (succeeding) page 151 1. 20
woe (wo) page 155 1. 25 on (upon).


332 NOTES.
Ing, page 143 1. 13 baroques (barroques) page 150 l. 31
chimeras (chimaeras) page 151 l. 20 woe (wo) page 1541. 4
ay (aye).
S. & W. page 143 l. 13 baroques (barroques) page 150
l. 31 chimera (chimaera) page 151 l. 20 woe (wo) page 154
l. 4 ay (aye).
The Elk.
Not in Stoddard nor Ingram.
S. & W. compared with “The Opal.” Page 154 l. 13
worthy of (worthy) page 157 l. 14 our (our own) page 16o
1. 14 Tulipifera (tulipeferum) page 161 l. 34 minutes (mo-
ments) page 162 l. S that (which) l. 17 it out (it).
A Tale of the Ragged Mountains.
Stod. page 1651. 2 doctrine (doctrines).
Ing. page 1631. 21 widely (wildly) page 1661. 22 on (in)
page 167 l. 4-5 never before been trodden (been trodden
never before).
The Spectacles.
Stod. page 1961. 19 adopt (to adopt) page 1981. 13 ſelf
(I felt) page 1991.31 at last (last) page 204 l. 2 with (and
helpless with) page 205 l. 8 both (bote).
Ing, page 1931. 20 consider (reconsider) page 196 l. 27
worse (less) page 1991. 8 explained (exclaimed) page 207
1. I un (en) [B. J.].
S. & W. page 203 1. 28 were [B. J.] (and were) page
205 l. 31 Buonaparte (Bonaparte) page 207 l. I un [B. J.]
(en).
Diddling Considered as one of the Exact Sciences.
Stod. page 212 l. 13 Frey (the Frey) 1. 32 trowsers'
(trousers') page 217 l. 8 diddle (diddler) page 219 1.25 in
(at) page 222 l. 1 in (in a).


NOTES. 333
S. & W. page 217 1. 26 icritoire (escritoire) page 221
1. 10 cosey (cosy).
Ing. page 220 1. 13 instantlv (instanter).
The Balloon Hoax.
Stod. page 234 1. 25 enclosing (inclosing).
S. & W. page 226 1. 1 on (in) page 225 1. 24 into (in)
page 233 1. 25 beautiful (beautifully).
The Premature Burial.
Stod. page 257 1. 23 untnouldcd (unmouldered) page
263 1. 27 with the (with) page 267 1. 27 and sad (sad) page
271 1. 31 subterranean (subterrene).
Ing. page 264 1. 4 so profound (profound).
The Oblong Box.
S. & W. page 285 1. 4 feet of (feet).
Stod. page 289 1. 7 mistake (mistakes).
Thou Art the Man.
Stod. page 208 1. 21 pled (plead) page 2071. 26 and page
298 1. 25 Shuttleworthy (Goodfellow) page 3051. 34 thumbed
(thumped).
Ing. page 2981. 21 pled (plead).
S. & \V. page 292 1. 1 men, and (and) page 297 1. 26
and page 298 1. 25 Shuttleworthy (Goodfellow) page 298
1. 21 pleaded (plead).